


Penny For Your Life?

by NoNameWriter



Series: We're All Mad Hatters [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:19:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoNameWriter/pseuds/NoNameWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was hapless and clumsy, playful and mischievous, flippant and destructive. And yet, sometimes it takes the unorthodox solution that only someone ten sorts of crazy could come up with to save the day. And Gavin was ALL sorts of mad, but he also cared a heck of a lot about this damn crew of his. </p><p>In other words, five times Gavin saved the lives of his crew, and one time they saved his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drowning

Ryan was typically the one pulling Gavin out of trouble, quite literally sometimes as he hooked the Brit by the back of his jacket and lifted him up away from danger, his other hand pointing a gun at the threat to the younger man and a black mask warning their attacker to back the _fuck_ off. Gavin was not a skilled swimmer, and yet Ryan had a penchant for blowing up boats, so the amount of times he’d scooped Gavin out of water, or grabbed his hand to hold on tight as Ryan flew by on a chopper Gavin needed a ride on was ridiculous. They’d all stopped counting the amount of times Ryan had lost his patience and simply thrown the younger blonde over his shoulder and hauled ass instead of putting up with Gavin’s spluttering and flailing in tense situations.

Gavin had a lot of talents, but rectifying mistakes once he made them was not one of those talents. When the shit hit the fan, Gavin’s already skewed thought process went even _more_ insane and his solutions, without fail, only made things ten times worse. Ryan, being the most level-headed and calm person in a chaotic situation out of them all, even over Jack’s sensibleness and Geoff’s ability on think on the fly, was usually the one who just marched into a gun fight and yanked the Brit out of harm’s way before he made anything worse. It gave him some good excuses to shoot people as well, which was never a bad thing when he was in a mood.

Ryan had taken bullets only stumbling, holding everything in until hours later when they could get to Caleb’s for help, passing out for a couple hours as he stitched him up and then got back on his feet like nothing was wrong. They guy was a tank, a born killer that could crush a person’s skull with his bare hands if pushed to it (or, you know, he was bored and needed the practice to keep the skill up) and easily the most competent when the world went to shit. If Ryan went radio-silence after a heist, it was because he’d taken a detour to rack up a body count and calm himself down, moving silently through the city as easily as a ghost and appearing a couple days later as if nothing was wrong and the blood on his clothes was just a new fashion trend he’d taken to. He came back restored of ammo and suspiciously richer, in a cheery mood that involved some creepy-ass whistling under his breath and a bit more of his deep, throaty laughs instead of annoyed silences.

He was a one man army if he wanted to be, and they all knew he was almost better suited for it, despite the fact he assured them all he was here to stay in the crew. They were all quite competent on their own if they bothered thinking about it, but Ryan in particular seemed to _need_ the solo space to go on a murder spree and stretch his wound up nerves more than they did, disappearing like he did every couple weeks, sometimes for only a couple hours, sometimes a couple days or even a week, one time staying away for almost a months.

They didn’t talk about it, but they’d developed a pattern about it. Those disappearances were like downswings in his mood, and on the upswing in the weeks before he left again, he usually had a week or so of “murder break”, where he didn’t so much as lift his hand in self defense (which worried the hell out of them, but they couldn’t get him to change). On those days, he’d sit without his mask in some old ‘dad sweater’ behind square glasses instead of his contacts in some random coffee shop and read classic literature, politely conversing with students and professors who frequented the shop and sipping tea. Somehow he’d even gotten invited to give a guest lecture on technology at the local university that way, and sometimes on those breaks he even went and spoke. He even once made a pop quiz beforehand to hand out to the kids, and seemed just as happy about it as he was when lining up targets through a sniper scope with Ray by his side, or when he got to pop his trunk and break out his favorite rocket launcher.

The point was, that no matter what he was doing— killing or not—Ryan was the most self-sufficient one of them all. He could walk out the front door with nothing in his pockets and be totally fine figuring it out, being alone, making quick cash, continuing in on whatever the hell he was interested in that week. When Ryan disappeared, no one worried at all.

Which was why they panicked so badly when they realized he was in trouble.

This particular time, Ryan was _not_ responsible for their boat blowing up, it was entirely Michael’s fault as the red head had forgotten about the wind and tossed a bomb at the cop chasing them over the shallow wake of the shore and it’d redirected in an entirely unfortunate twist of fate when the wind caught it and Ryan turned to the right to head more out to sea at the worst possible time. It’d clung to their own boat with a noticeable ‘ _thunk!’_ and all three present knew shit was about to go down.

Ryan had enough time to push Gavin over the side of the boat and grab Michael by the waist to haul them over the opposite side when the damn thing blew, the timer being set specifically so that the cops behind them wouldn’t have time to bail.

Luckily, the blast was generally underneath the bow of the boat and it launched them into the air first instead of just combusting, and the boat’s hull directed the brunt of the blast backwards onto the cop boat, which caught pretty easily as well. Gavin broke the surface of the water after his nasty dunk, coughing out water and flinching at the hail of bullets raining down. He let out a shout of triumph to see Geoff and Ray leaning out of a chopper above them and finishing the cops still in the water, Jack looking exasperated as ever at the chaotic turn the heist had taken as he steered the chopper to give the men behind him the best angles.

Michael was seeing stars from the blast, but since it wasn’t his first explosion he knew he just had to hold his breath and wait for his senses to return. He was thankful for his instincts when the first thing he realized was that he was under water, and then his head hit something and a bubble escaped his lungs as he almost instinctively cried out at the hit. He tossed in the water, trying to figure out which way was up, swiftly kicking once he figured out the general direction of the surface. Blinking in the waves and glanced around blearily, and realized he’d clunked his head on a rock on the ocean floor, meaning that blast must’ve been one _hell_ of a kick.

His ears were ringing and his limbs were throbbing sorely from what he called "boom shock" and he took in the sight of the chopper and the flaming boats with bodies in the water with a sigh of relief, allowing himself to float on his back for a moment and get his head on straight. Damn that had hurt.

“Michael!?”

“Right here boi,” He shouted to Gavin’s concerned call, not even opening his eyes as he tried to breathe deep.

“Michael, where’s Ryan!?”

 _Now_ his eyes popped open and he tread water a little more actively as Gavin finally reached him in the water. The two glanced around, but besides the bobbing corpse of a uniformed man a couple yards away, there were no other heads in the water. Suddenly, there was shouting from the copter above them, and in unison they glanced up to see Ray and Geoff screaming in panic and pointing a little ahead of them.

The copter swooped and Geoff jumped, free falling quite a way and then diving straight into the water and disappearing beneath the surface, Michael and Gavin quickly swimming to his position in alarm. Michael was the stronger swimmer and got there first, ducking beneath the waves and forcing his eyes open to see what Geoff was doing down here in the golden light of a sinking sun. What he saw made his heart stop.

Ryan’s dark form was thrashing a bit weakly, struggling to fight with the air he had left in his lungs and pull at what looked to be a cage of some sort. Perhaps it was a large crab or lobster cage that’d been mangled by a propeller and washed further ashore, getting pinned in the shifting of the large boulders around this stretch of beach. It didn’t really matter how it got there though, and more so that Ryan had obviously been blasted right into it, getting tangled in a mass of this twisted steel pipes as he’d thrashed in panic after the initial blast. Michael panicked and tried to figure out how long he’d been down here already, but all he came back with was _too long._

Geoff was there, trying to shift the wires or the rocks or _anything_ to get Ryan free, but it was a mess and his indecision was wasting precious time. Michael’s time frozen in surprise had been a waste of time too, and already he was almost out of breath. Ryan had long since lost his breath, as his normally fearsome, decisive moments started to look lethargic and weak. He was going to drown, any second now, and Michael’s heart stopped.

Ryan was the strongest of them, he couldn’t just _drown!_

He didn’t know what to do, there wasn’t _time,_ they didn’t-!

Gavin finally joined them under the waves, seeming to dive down from directly above where Ryan was pinned. He grabbed onto the front of Ryan’s jacket to haul himself down and keep his level in the water instead of letting the air in his lungs drift himself upwards, keeping the tight firm while using one hand to pull Ryan’s mask off. Michael’s stomach flipped again to see how drawn Ryan looked without his mask, his face paint drifting like blood away in the water and make his expression hauntingly disintegrated. He was too weak at this point to react to Gavin’s presence, his eyes slipping closed.

But everyone present snapped their eyes _wide_ open when Gavin plugged Ryan’s nose and kissed him soundly.

Or, at least that was what it looked like. Bubbles of air escaped between their lips and Ryan thrashed a little in alarm, Gavin’s grip shifting to press one hand on Ryan’s chest, silently commanding him to breath in as he breathed out.

Which Ryan did.

His blue eyes were clearer as Gavin shot up towards the surface, out of air, and Michael followed him.

They broke the surface together, and Gavin’s ragged breath sounded rough and scratchy beside him.

“Michael! Help Geoff! I’ll try and keep Ryan awake!” He said, inhaling almost dramatically deep and then plunging under the water again. Michael didn’t need to be told twice, immediately joining his boss in trying to untangle Ryan’s clothes and skin from the metal poles where the jagged edges has cut into him and the leather of his jacket. Geoff’s knife was at work slicing through material and, unfortunately, skin that was impeding their progress, as Michael tried shifting rocks.

Besides little spasms when he was cut, Ryan remained motionless by Gavin’s command as the Brit grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him again, breathing more air into his lungs in amongst a tornado of renewed bubbles. Ryan seemed to figure it out and stopped thrashing, trying to remain calm to save his oxygen. Gavin’s method seemed to be working for now, but it was a minimal amount of air transferred at best and neither of them were getting proper breaths through it all as Gavin’s lungs ate up oxygen from his exertion and the amount of oxygen Ryan was getting was probably only the absolute bare minimum required to live at best.

In other words, they were still on a time crunch, just not as badly as before.

It took six more breaths from Gavin until Michael and Geoff could free their friend, counting the time they had to stop for air themselves. Any more of the bare-minimum breathing tactics and it wasn’t clear if Ryan or Gavin was going to pass out first from the strain.

As it happened, it was on their last breath that Ryan finally slipped free, and the two of them drifted upwards with their lips still sealed together when they suddenly moved, the break from their rhythm caused them to break apart roughly and lose a lot of air between them. Weak from the ordeal and now lacking anything to help them drift upwards, all their effort might’ve killed them both anyway if Michael hadn’t grabbed a hold of Gavin the same moment Geoff snagged Ryan by the waist and dragged the two of them to the surface.

The sound of four people breathing in as one once they hit the air was like the epitome of relief. Ryan coughed a lot of water up almost immediately and would’ve sunk again if Geoff hadn’t shifted and managed to hold them both up. Gavin was wheezing something horrible and looked pale as a ghost, just barely treading water in a way that had Michael hovering beside him worriedly, despite his own fatigue.

A loop of rope fell into the water right in front of Michael, and he looked up to see the chopper still hovering, a distraught Ray looking down at them. He grabbed onto it and pulled himself up, knowing Ray didn’t have the strength to pull any of the others up himself. His arms ached by the time he got up there and tossed the rope back, and he and Ray were just barely able to pull Ryan up, with absolutely no help from the battered Mercenary himself. The second he was up Ryan gripped one of the seat harnesses weakly, but just sort of slumped like he had nothing left in him beside managing to just barely stay conscious, cueing Ray to hold tightly onto him as Jack took off through the air in search of somewhere safe to land.

Michael glanced down as they left, and saw Geoff and Gavin making the longer trek to the beach through the water, knowing the chopper only held four people. He felt a tremor of worry seeing Gavin’s head repeatedly sink under the waves, but forced himself to get over it when Geoff swam beside him, obviously yanking him up every time he slipped under.

Meanwhile Geoff had quite a time getting Gavin to shore, when it became clear the Brit had spent almost all the energy he normally had through this heist. By the time they made it to sand, Gavin had collapsed onto his hands and knees in the shallowest of the wake and was heaving for breath, coughing up water occasionally. Geoff glanced around for any cops that might’ve caught up, but for the moment they seemed clear, so he knelt by the younger man’s side and clapped him on the back harshly to help bring up some water.

“You crazy son of a bitch,” He shook his head in disbelief, still unable to believe that had really just happened. “Where the _hell_ did you get the idea to do that?”

“Saw it in a movie,” Gavin got out in a rough, painfully scratchy voice, managing to look up and spare him a shit-eating grin, and Geoff let out a bellow of laughter.

“Hollywood to the rescue,” He rolled his eyes. He stood and dragged one of Gavin’s arms over his shoulders to force the man to stand. “We need to get out of here, a rescue team will be here to see if there are any survivors of this any minute.” Gavin groaned but complied, managing to walk reasonably well- although he kept stumbling so Geoff kept supporting him anyway. They managed to hobble along like that until they found a reasonably deserted street and jacked a car, Gavin slumping into the passenger seat and immediately closing his eyes wearily.

“You think Ryan will be ok?” He asked softly, as Geoff put it in gear and started flooring it back to one of their safe houses where they’d meet up with the others.

“Did he inhale any water?”

Gavin thought a little and then shook his head. “I don’t think so, not initially. When he got free we both inhaled a bit, but I coughed it up easy enough, I think he could too. It didn’t sit there long.”

“Probably won’t be pneumonia then, maybe just a little cold or something.” Geoff teased him lightly, but also sort of seriously as he glanced over at the man beside him, where Gavin as leaning his head against the window and resting his eyes. “You _totally_ just saved his fucking life, dude. To be honest, didn’t think you had it in you.”

At that, Gavin smiled a little mischievously. “I dunno Geoff, it might’ve just been an excuse to kiss him.”

The older man burst out into laughter as they sped through the rapidly darkening night.


	2. Burning

Gavin _loved_ to make Michael fight, and honestly, Michael loved to do it.

It wasn’t that Gavin did it explicitly on purpose sometimes, but the prick could get irritating fast to the people around him, and before he’d been a big time criminal he’d been a teen who made a quick buck by tricking people out of their money. Slight of hand, pool, darts, and drinking contests mainly, which all required hanging around in bars where the people around you were probably drunk too. And Gavin was _good_ at it, because he came off as a moron (which he was) and clumsy as hell (which he also was), meaning that he could _never_ get the better of someone, right?

Wrong.

Underestimation was an art that Gavin had perfected. He was a pool shark and could hit a bull’s eye even when his was so drunk he was seeing three dart boards instead of one. His had quick fingers as they’d all learned, sharing many an hour bonding with Ryan over their shared dorky love of magic tricks, making false bets and pick pocketing the easiest thing in the world to him. He could also drink most people under the table though he didn’t look like it; only Geoff having a better tolerance for it. And even then, the crew boss almost always had the Brit by his side for a night out on the town, knowing there wasn’t a much better drinking partner out there that could keep pace with him like Gavin could.

The problem with all this was that Gavin was a _loud_ drunk, and his annoying tendencies got cranked up exponentially with every drink he had. Add in other drunks who’d just lost their wallets to him and it was a pool of opportunity for a fight to break out.

Michael, who also loved to drink with his boi, never drank _that_ much just in case a fight was at hand. The second someone lifted their fist towards the Brit, Michael laid them out flat and clearly demonstrated why that was a bad idea. If the guy’s friends joined in, all the merrier!

Gavin would just grab another drink to sip on and perch himself atop the bar or a nearby table and catcall into the fight in between loud laughs and cheers for his boi, knowing the Michael neither wanted nor needed his help.

The two of them had always been close, almost instantly after meeting. Michael was violent and Gavin was annoying and it put a lot of people off, but they never even blinked at a single thing each other did. It was just how they were, unspoken and accepted unconditionally, and it bolstered each other’s confidence to be whoever the hell they wanted to be without judgment (at least, from each other).

And Michael was the guy who got his kicks out of heavy artillery, pretty explosions, and sinking his fists into an opponent’s jaw. Gavin was the guy who got off by picking the fights, by torturing the people around him until they lost it, and then watching in fascination from the side as his best friend beat the living hell out of them. Michael got blood moving through his veins when someone tried even _touching_ his favorite Brit, and Gavin got a bit breathless from being backed into a corner and threatened by guys bigger than him. Michael was protective and loyal and possessive even, while Gavin relished in the idea of his little Michael caring enough to be that way.

And that was the way they existed— Gavin stirring the pot and Michael battling away the currents to keep them both safe and happy and together. The times the red head yelled were almost always because Gavin had very nearly not gotten out of harm’s way in time, or he’d actually gotten hurt when Michael hadn’t been keeping an eye on him. The Brit knew full well how to fan Michael’s flame by pulling crazy stunts that required a lot of luck to live through, more specifically in situations where it wasn’t in Michael’s hands on whether he lived or died, where he didn’t have control.

Michael was the one who pushed Gavin out of the way in a firefight, the one who shoved the Brit in the car as made their getaway, the one who watched Gavin’s movements like a hawk before a heist to make sure he wasn’t about to go rouge (or at the very least so that Michael could be by his side when he did). Gavin was the one who let himself be manhandled and trusted Michael implicitly to get them where they needed to be, to protect him.

Except for one time, involving about a kilo of C4.

It was _supposed_ to have been a routine bomb-and-run, just to send a message to a rival gang. They had the B-Team on it, until Jeremy had gotten shot in the leg, and they realized there must’ve been something in their warehouse a little more important than they’d originally thought. Which was how they’d come up with one of Geoff’s favorite types of heists, involving a lot of misdirect and talking to people and not nearly enough violence to sate the rest of the crew less this be what _every_ heist was like. But, Geoff loved the opportunity to play an evil James Bond (and really put that tux he wore all the time to good use), and they couldn’t deny him this one little heist playing along.

Call it an early birthday present.

As it was, the Gents were across town, Geoff and Jack playing parlay to the gang who owned this warehouse under some phony dealings as a distraction with Ray as their sniper in case anything funny happened. They’d heard over their earpieces that their rival had a sniper of their own, so Ray had his hands full playing rooftop tag with the guy until they could out-best each other’s position. Gavin had giggled up a storm at the colorful curses and insults Ray was coming up for this apparently new arch-rival of his.

Ryan and several of the B-Team were in a tunnel under the rival gang’s headquarters, Lindsay was rapidly hacking something relating to the business Geoff and Jack were doing, and Michael and Gavin were in this crappy warehouse with a hostage and a camera.

The blonde woman had fallen fully for Gavin’s “ _Sorry love, I’m new around here, can you show me to the nearest subway station?”_ and gotten chloroformed for her efforts, dragged to this dump and tied to a chair, where Gavin and Lindsay had hooked up to a camera that live-streamed to a tablet Jack had. She was probably someone important and going to be used for leverage, but she wasn’t going to live long so the Lads didn’t really care much.

“’Bout ready, boi? It’s almost four!” Gavin chirped happily, excited for the pretty explosion they were about to see. The woman in the chair thrashed a little and whimpered behind her gag.

“Oh yeah,” Michael crowed, grinning like only he did while doing what he loved best. He’s spent the last several hours wiring the place to go _poof_ in a cloud of smoke while Gavin climbed around the rafters and directed him away from the guards milling around. Now all that was left was the set of the main detonator, which was supposed to be rigged to go off at exactly 4:07pm, as per Geoff’s really complicated plan. “Still think this gig is like some twisted Ocean’s 11, but whatever,” He muttered to himself.

He heard Geoff huff a little over their mics, but he was still in the middle of some sort of threat/negotiation so he couldn’t do much more to object.

“Leave him be Micoo,” Gavin scolded with no weight behind it at all as he stared out the cracked door, just checking to make sure no one was coming. “I kinda like these heists on occasion. Once a year isn’t bad, I don’t think.” He decided.

“Once a year, I’ll give ya that. Still boring though.” The other shook his head, standing and dusting his hands off as he beamed at the device positioned under the woman’s chair. “Ok guys, we’re all set. Nine minutes and counting!” Ray and Ryan sounded their approval over the wire, Geoff humming in response to the conversation he was having but also double-tasking and giving his acknowledgement. Looking at the Brit he nodded firmly down the hall. “We need to clear the area,” he commanded. Gavin nodded back and grinned excitedly as he slipped out into the hallway, Michael right on his heels and shutting the door behind him to cut off the muffle screams of the woman inside.

They made it down two halls before Michael heard footsteps ahead of them. He snagged the back of Gavin’s jacket and tossed the two of them into the nearest room, which was thankfully empty. They remained quiet and slunk down in the shadows on either side of the door until the person passed, and then Michael slipped out. It was a guard, and he couldn’t let them walk towards the woman and the detonator—he wouldn’t be able to defuse it even if he tried, but better safe than sorry.

After the guy had met a quick end with a knife to the throat, they dragged him inside the room they’d just hid in and continued on their way, Gavin running ahead to peek around both corners. Michael felt a tremor in his stomach when Gavin turned back to him with wide eyes.

“What?” He demanded.

“Michael, the door down to the warehouse floor is locked.” He said, looking uneasy.

“ _What!?”_ Michael leaned around the corner too and saw for himself—the door they’d come in through had been chained heavily. These fuckers, they probably called it quitting time already! “Wait… that guard had to be going somewhere though. Lindsay, you there?”

“ _Yes my lovelies, what can I do you for?”_ Her voice appeared in their ears.

“I need the plans of the second floor of the warehouse we’re in, the office level. Is there any way down to the main factory floor?”

There was a couple seconds of silence before she found her answer, “ _Yeah, straight down the hall your backs are to, end of that hall take a left, repeat that, side entrance door and a staircase that takes you to the back left corner of the building. Only door is on the front right.”_

“Of fucking _course_ it is,” Michael growled, the two of them already running in that direction, still trying to be quiet but really feeling the time crunch now. “Any windows we can jump through?”

“ _Negative,”_

“How about any place we can _blast_ through with a grenade, or sticky bomb?” Gavin offered half-heartedly.

“I rigged this whole place boy, we blow any part and it’ll all go up prematurely,” Michael shot back dismissively, his jaw set firm in agitation.

“Bloody brilliant,” Gavin sighed as they made it to the first corner and peeked around it for only a split second before they were running again. They were obviously not as sneaky as they’d thought they were in their hasty checks though, because the nest hall revealed three guards who spotted them immediately and started shooting.

From around the corner they had the advantage compared to three guys practically in a barrel of the straight hall, so it only took them about a minute to shoot them, taking care not to get shot themselves. But a minute was a really long time when you only had about five left.

By the time they got to the last hall, Gavin started to realize they weren’t going to make it. They still had a short walkway and a staircase, not to mention the sprint across the warehouse floor with at least a dozen guards milling around that they didn’t have time to be cautious about stumbling into. He’d spent the afternoon up in the rafters, he saw just how big this place was, and he wasn’t sure they could make it to the front door and clear of the blast radius in time. They’d cut it too close.

Gavin actually had a really great sense of internal time, even under a panic, so he was fairly sure they only had about three and a half minutes by the time they reached the staircase. Three minutes by the time they got into the main building. A guard spotted them and they ducked behind a crate, Michael breathing for a beat before standing and hitting the guy directly between his eyes as he took a step closer to them to investigate. Two minutes left.

They were only about a quarter of the way there when they were down to one minute. They were moving too slow, Michael was being too cautious with the glances he kept throwing everywhere to watch for guards. They should’ve hauled ass the moment they hit the floor and then _maybe_ they would’ve made it, but it was too late now.

Thirty seconds, Gavin was looking everywhere, his heart beating too fast, so fast that not even considering their sprinting could explain it. Twenty seconds and he spotted a forklift, an old one that looked to be in need of some maintenance—in fact, someone must’ve had the same idea because the engine block was popped open and a tool kit was lying forgotten on the floor.

Fifteen seconds when he grabbed Michael by the strap of the backpack he’d been using to tote his bombs and hauled him to the left and away from their original destination. The red head started shouting, but Gavin blocked him out and _shoved_ as hard as he could.

Five seconds when Michael tripped from being manhandled and all but collapsed into the small space of the engine block with Gavin tossing himself into his friend, pressing tightly into him and undoubtedly injuring the red head against all the sharp bits of then engine, but really not caring in the slightest.

One second when he grabbed the metal hatch and forced it shut the best he could, knowing there wasn’t really enough space in here for one person, let alone two. Their bodies pressed as closely together as they possibly could, feeling every panting breath and rampant heartbeat.

And then the world went red, and the wind got knocked out of each of them in an instant. Michael’s vision went black and spaceless, and all he could feel was heat and sticky wetness and sharp metal in his back, all he could hear being a roaring, scraping, _grating noise._

He couldn’t breathe, and all of a sudden he was coughing up smoke. Blinking hard, he realized there was blood in his eyes, pouring down his face and his head hurt bad enough to deduce some sort of head wound. There was a stinging all down his side, and from experience he knew he was pretty burnt, though possibly not so badly as to go into shock (he hoped). He ached everywhere, a dozen places on his body throbbing in a way that promised deep, black bruises.

Did he just blow himself up? Damn that was embarrassing, considering he was the supposed expert in the crew about high explosives. Gavin was _never_ going to let him live this-

_Gavin!?_

Adrenaline coursed through him as he inhaled sharply and tried to get his bearings. The lift Gavin had shoved him in was on its side, angled so that they were probably resting on debris. The engine behind him seemed to have remained generally intact despite being pointed and hugely uncomfortable to have his back blown into, but it was solid and it’d survived the blast—the rest of the lift, not so much.

The engine block door had detached, but it was still where it would’ve been had it remained connected, just lying a couple feet out and its hinges twisted into spirals of scrap metal. Michel’s heart jumped to see Gavin lying unconscious on top of it amongst a war-zone of flaming tile, wood, metal, and other disintegrated debris, like he was on a raft in the middle of some hell-like ocean. There was sky through the clouds of smoke and drifting embers in the air around them, so the warehouse was gone.

Quickly as he could with his body screaming at him to stop, he untangled himself from the engine behind him and crawled out of the meager space he’d hid in, carefully stepping (stumbling) over twisted metal and flames and dropping to Gavin’s side on the metal door. The Brit looked beat to hell, covered in soot and burned badly on one arm and down that same side. He had blood down the back of both calves, as well as his own freely-running head wound.

Michael checked his pulse, relieved to the point of pain when he found one.

He heard a small crackling noise, and realized Gavin’s earpiece was blowing up. Touching his own ear he realized he’d lost his, and unhooked his friend’s to listen into.

“ _\- IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW-!”_

“Geoff?”Michael croaked, quickly realizing his throat was almost gone from the smoke he’d been breathing. They needed to get out of this crater quickly.

He heard several simultaneous sighs of relief.

“ _Shit Michael, you’re alive,”_ Geoff spat in a hurry, “ _Where’s Gavin?!”_

“Knocked out, but alive too. Hate to admit it, but I think I blew myself up.” Michael admitted in a sigh.

 _“Moron,”_ Ray grumbled, but it came out quieter than his insults normally did.

 _“I’m almost there,”_ Ryan informed him. That surprised Michael a bit, since the Mercenary had been at least fifteen minutes away, or should’ve been for their heist. Still closer than Jack and Geoff, but still.

“How long was I out?”

“ _Long enough to scare the living daylights out of Geoff.”_ Jack informed him in a business-like way, not sounding concerned, but they all knew he was probably the most concerned of them all not one minute ago, just not vocal about it like Geoff was. _“We heard you asking Lindsay about exits and then heard the explosion over your coms. The fancy heist went up in flames too, since Geoff lost his cool when he heard the blast and shot them all.”_

_“Hey, I thought those two dipshits were dead for a second, I was distracted. Better kill these bastards than blow my cover and let them kill me!”_

_“’Blow your cover’, like hell! Everyone knows damn well who you are, you aren’t fooling **anyone**.”_

Geoff muttered darkly under his breath. “ _Michael, you and Gavin owe me another cool heist!”_

“Whatever,” Michael rolled his eyes, too tired and battered to be bothered by anything right now. “Ryan, eta?”

“ _Pulling up now. Where are you?”_

“I don’t even fucking know. Hell, it looks like,” Michael sighed, his voice wavering with an onslaught of weariness as he glanced around the utter destruction he’d just brought. It was still beautiful to him, especially now that he’d felt it too. He was fucking _awesome_ at his job, if he did say so himself.

He looked down at his unconscious friend and situated himself to lie beside him, pressed against his un-burnt side and resting his head on the sleeping Brit’s chest, nestling his head between his shoulder and neck. He didn’t care one wit about the blood coating both of them, or the burns or the aches or the sharpness of stressed ribs and sprained and bruised _everything._

Gavin shifted slightly, and voice croaking out in the crackling still air of heavy smoke and deadened ash.

“Mi…coo…” He moaned breathlessly.

“I know, boi,” Michael soothed, twisting one hand into Gavin’s good one and feeling the Brit weakly squeeze back.

The fact of the matter was that it had been a _really_ close call. Like, _really_ fucking close.

But Michael could not bring himself to regret this, or hate the blue-grey smoke as it curled beautifully up into the pale sky that stretched open above them endlessly. The flames danced happily, spinning and curling in a peaceful way after their former violence. Everything hurt, but it made him feel so fucking _alive_ it was like he’d never opened his eyes before. There was heat, and blood, and metal on his lips and in the air around him, and he fucking _loved it._

And just this once, he got a taste of why Gavin loved being protected so much.

He smiled despite everything, and waited for the sound of Ryan shifting through the wreckage to come and save them.


	3. Falling

3.

Jack had had _enough_ of the stupid bullshit the guys gave him, calling him _mother_ and the like. So he cared about this makeshift family, so he was the only one of them with a _lick_ of common sense most days, so he felt like an overpaid, highly weaponized babysitter with five full-grown morons under his care all with different psychosis of their own—so fucking _what?_

As much as they gave him shit for it, deep down they all knew it was true. He was their mother hen, the one who noticed the first blush of a fever in their cheeks, the one who pressed them down onto a spare couch and soothed them while stitching up bullet wounds and cuts, the one who tossed out a token “ _Be careful!”_ to the Lads when they rushed out the doors with bombs and rifles and red bull even though he knew damn well they weren’t listening. He was the one who got up occasionally and made a pot of tea when Ryan eventually wandered in from his insomnia, who sat over a heavy drink with Geoff when no one was around and the crime boss needed to vent about serious crap he couldn’t talk about with anyone else less they see it as weakness. He was the one who soothed the rare arguments that had hit a nerve between them, seeing all sides and peaceably encouraging them all to forgive and get along no matter what, talking sense and acceptance into them for their crew when they were at their most raw.

Jack was the one the crew came to with a _“Don’t tell the others this, but...”_ question or confession or fear they needed answered or soothed. When shit went down and it had them all rattled, Ryan may be the one who holds it together during the chaos, but Jack was the one who continued on business as usual in the _after—_ after the bullets had died down and he was forcing them to sit around a table for a dinner he’d scraped together and actually _talk_ to one another rather than sulk and pretend they were ok when they weren’t.

Likewise, an order from Geoff wasn’t optional, and a threat from Ryan was terrifying—but the sheer idea of being faced with Jack’s _I’m-disappointed-in-you_ face was enough to make even Geoff pause mid-sentence and reconsider, and to make Ryan duck his head a little in his skull mask and apologize in a soft, southern accent that only came out every so often. Jack was fierce in the crime world and scarily competent, but his true power came from the ability to wrangle the five _other_ most dangerous men in Los Santos pretty effectively. He was like glue, holding them together and their home base down in an iron grip; without him it’d degrade over time and be a little less precious as it was now.

Because that was what Jack had forcibly beat into their brains after all the time they’d been together—this crew of theirs was damn precious, and if they fucked it up then _he_ would fuck _them_ up, so help me god.

Jack was the one who double and triple-checked their tools and supplies before a heist, laying it all out neatly and counting it all four times, tossing in a plethora of other things they _might_ need should the job go sideways, spending hours going over every little possibility and preparing for it the best he was able. He organized all their stuff so they could grab it at a moment’s notice, restocking and preparing and planning the logistics while Geoff made it up as he went. Geoff dreamed big, talking a big game with sweeping hand motions and his eyes far away, and Jack made it happen, quietly writing notes on a pad behind his boss and just taking it in to enact later with the occasional weary sigh.

He was almost paranoid that one of them was going to run out of bullets in the middle of a bad firefight, or that Michael would be one bomb too short one of these days to really pull his work off. Or that they’d have miscounted and there wasn’t enough space in the getaway cars for all of them, or that their safe house had burned down since last they checked and they’d get separated with dead cell phones and in the desert with no water and-!

Doomsday planning, that’s what Ray called it.

Jack just ignored him, knowing that he would never be able to sleep well the night before their heists as he went over his lists and worried he’d missed something. They’d all told him over and over that if one of them was stupid enough to not pack ammo for their weapons, it’d be _their_ fault because they _are_ fucking professionals thank you, but Jack only ever shook his head.

Yeah they were professional criminals, and yeah they all knew their specialties inside and out, and yeah Geoff made sure that they all knew each other’s parts as well so they wouldn’t fuck each other up, but it didn’t matter. It made no difference to Jack because they were still _his_ idiots, and he loved that they were idiots but being idiots made him worry. No amount of reassurance or logic would sooth him because he was made to worry about the people he cared about, and that was that. The only thing that had ever kept him up at night was the fear of losing those he loved, and he knew he couldn’t stop a lot of disasters and accidents, but making sure they had enough bullets to give them the best fighting chance was something he _could_ control, so he latched onto it.

He’d told them as much, flat out pushing that into their faces after one too many jibes about how he was a ‘neat freak’ or that he couldn’t just ‘enjoy the heist’ and ‘ _wing it’_   (and god damn it _Geoff_ for trying to wing it _every fucking time_ _)._

They hadn’t responded after that particular outburst, but their teasing was infinitely more gentle from there on out. About the organizing bullets bit, at least. 

There was something unspoken about it: you didn’t worry Jack more than absolutely necessary, at least putting a little effort in where you otherwise wouldn’t.

It was in this mindset that Gavin sat in dawning horror in the back of a small cargo jet somewhere above Los Santos, Jack shouting at him and the others over their earpieces as they lost yet another engine. Gavin stumbled and had to grip tightly to the netting on the wall in amongst the useless crates around him as the engine went _boom_ and they dropped another couple hundred feet out of the air until Jack managed to get the aircraft gliding a little on its wings. But a simple glance out the window made it obvious the ground was still approaching at way too high a velocity for them to survive this.

Plane crashes weren’t out of the ordinary for them, considering how often they involved aircraft into their plans and how often their plans failed epically—Gavin loved to fly but admittedly wasn’t that great at it. Jack was usually their eyes in the sky, and he had the natural talent and steady composition for it in case of situations like this. None of them feared heights either, especially considering one of Gavin’s favorite hobbies was jumping from skyscrapers in downtown and seeing how close he could get to the ground before he pulled his parachute. Jumping out of planes or from other high places was one of his most beloved recreational activities, apart from drinking with Geoff and blowing stuff up with Michael.

But this time, there was only one parachute stuffed back in the emergency gear.

It wasn’t any of their faults, this was a stolen plane, just the first one they’d come across on the tarmac in making their escape. The reason it’d been abandoned was now painfully clear as the engines had started going out in rapid succession of each other; it just hadn’t been able to take the strain of the evasive tactics Jack put it through to out-maneuver the cop helicopters chasing them. Sure they’d lost the police, but they weren’t going to be in the air much longer.

“It’s gonna be a while until we can meet up with you guys,” Jack was saying over their coms. “This piece of crap is giving out, we’re gonna have to bail and figure it out on the ground.”

“ _Michael’s got the money secured and Ray’s on his way to the safe house now. Fuck knows where Ryan is, I think he took his earpiece out, but whatever. We’ll be here whenever you get to it.”_ Geoff responded easily. Plane bails were old hat at this point, no need to worry.

Gavin felt a little breathless though. This was so totally _not_ routine it almost knocked the air out of his lungs.

Swallowing that back he grabbed the chute and stumbled up to the cockpit where Jack was fighting with the controls. “How long do we have?” He asked, leaning over Jack’s shoulder and forcing his voice to come out normally.

“Five minutes or so before the last engine gives out. We need to be out of here by then cause it might take the plane with it,” Jack responded simply, focused on his task of keeping them in the air. Gavin started counting down five minutes in his head.

“Best be off then; put this on.” He said, trying to sound as chipper and unaffected at normal. Jack’s focus remained calm and steady as he let Gavin slip the pack over his shoulders and the let the Brit curl his hands around his waist to fix the straps properly while he continued to battle the steering in front of him.

In a stroke of trepidation Gavin found himself running his fingers over all the buckles and hooks once more, checking that it all seemed functional. This plane was a piece of crap and the forethought of only putting _one_ chute in it spoke of the kind of person that took care of it, so it wouldn’t surprise him if the chute was dysfunctional in some way too. It seemed ok, but it was also pretty damn old—Gavin feared its ability to do its job, much less trying to force it to support two people.

And if anyone was going to survive a trip without a safety net, it’d be him. Free falling was his favorite sport, and he’d courted death that way countless times. He knew his way around sharp impacts and high falls, and he was a lot younger and springier than Jack was, meaning if someone was going to survive this… _if_ someone was going to survive this… at least he had a fractionally better chance.

Not much of a better chance, but enough to make Gavin’s decision clear as day. As if he’d decide anything else, even if he was sure he wouldn’t survive. Not to say that he was sure he'd survive this, because he had no fucking clue about what was going to happen right now.

He turned and slipped back into the cargo hold, fiddling with the latches and letting the hatch door slide open once he figured they were low enough to pressurization to not be a problem. One glance at the quickly growing landscape below them and he knew they had to jump soon.

“Jack!” He hollered, hoping he’d hear him over their earpieces even over the roaring wind.

“ _Coming,”_ He heard the static-y answer in his ear. “ _When I release the controls the plane’s gonna go a bit wild, so get ready to jump the second I make it back there,”_ he commanded.

Gavin felt his stomach plummet and found he couldn’t answer.

Thirty seconds later the plane bucked around him and Gavin almost toppled over, only managing to stay up by grabbing onto a strapped down crate for dear life. Three seconds later Jack was there, running for the door and nodding to Gavin beside him. He paused right in front of the open door and looked at the Brit as he stepped out from behind the crate with as blank an expression as he could muster with his heart beating like a painful bass drum in his chest.

Jack’s expression went from casual, to confused, to horrified in a split second.

“ _Where’s your parachute?!”_ He all but screeched in a panic over the wind, stumbling as the plane undulated in the air and nearly knocking him out of the door before he grabbed the side ledge of the opening.

Gavin just gave him a sad, apologetic look.

“I’m so sorry,” He said honestly, and then jumped and grabbed the cargo netting over the door. He swung forward and kicked Jack full out in the chest with both his feet, breaking his iron grip from the door edge and literally kicking the older man out of the plane.

He heard Jack’s scream die in the wind, but he could still clearly hear him in his earpiece.

“ _Gavin you prick!”_ He was screaming faintly in a roar of wind and static.  “ _What the fuck are you doing!?”_

“ _Gavin!?”_ He heard Geoff and Michael’s voices in his ear as well, the others realizing something wasn’t right. Jack’s insult wasn’t truly that joking, and it was a bit more panicked than they’d ever heard him be before. Even Geoff had never heard him shriek like that.

“ _Why aren’t you wearing a parachute?”_ Geoff demanded sharply, putting the pieces together from what he could hear.

“There was only one,” Gavin said softly, watching with a sinking stomach as the plane got closer and closer to the ground, the entire structure undulating and quickly getting ready to flip in the air once its gliding momentum gave out. Any second now…

 _“WHAT!?”_ That was Michael’s voice, loud and clear.

He heard Jack shouting hysterically, but couldn’t make it out over the wind. He heard Ray let out a strangled noise, and Geoff’s line was completely, gravely silent.

“I could still survive this. Maybe.” He offered, making an attempt to sound upbeat, but he really wasn’t feeling it. “Looks like I’m over Vinewood. Maybe I’ll land on something soft,” he joked.

“ _Gavin…”_

The Brit closed his eyes against Geoff’s broken tone.

He gritted his teeth as the plane shook dangerously. It was going to start doing summersaults in the air, so this was as close to the ground as he was going to get.

“Save a drink for me, I’ll be there soon.” He told whoever was listening—and then he jumped.

By the time Jack had righted himself in the air and pulled his chute, there were tears down his cheeks and in his beard, though he barely even realized it. There was an ache in his chest both from where he’d been kicked and from something else that made each heartbeat damn near agonizing. He was frantically looking for where the plane had gone, but came up with nothing—until a ball of fire lit up the late afternoon sky to the west, signaling its fate. He searched desperately for another chute in the sky, or for a spec of a person against the blue and white and golden sunlight around him, but there was nothing.

He let out a furious shout of grief, and sunk uselessly into his harness as more tears seeped into his beard.

Ray was sitting with his knees pulled up against his chest and leaning against the stove in the kitchen of their safe house. No one was there yet; the house was perfectly quiet save for the sound of shock and rage in his earpiece. With numb fingers he slipped the com out and put it in his hoodie pocket, breathing slowly in the silence that met him. He cleared his throat and grabbed his rifle from where it leaned against the counter beside him, and slowly started to take it apart, cleaning each piece slowly and carefully.

Michael was screaming on a rooftop, cursing at the sky above him and ordering Gavin to _fucking answer him_ and getting no answer in return. His frustration mounted until he was on his knees, but he kept yelling and punching the building beneath him, slamming his fists down until his knuckles and palms started to bleed. When his throat cracked from overuse, he gave an almighty sob and fell silent, shoulders shaking uselessly.

Geoff had pulled his car over at the side of the road, forgetting all about the cut a bullet had given him in their heist as it bled all over his nice leather seats. He watched the cars go by around him, completely shocked and unable to process what had just happened. He’d been driving along, everything normal and all six of them suddenly much richer than they were two hours ago… and now everything was different. He was having a hard time breathing, and for the first time didn’t trust himself to drive, even when he hadn’t had a single drop to drink that day.

Ryan was standing on the bank of a river, his mask giving nothing away as he tilted his head to look up at the sky.

Without a word he turned and headed for the city.

000

By the time they all made it to the safe house except for Ryan, it had been dark for an hour. No one said anything to each other, not even Jack who was usually the one that got them to talk every time they got rattled. Now Jack was sitting by the front window and staring at the street as if Gavin were going to come walking up like he did after every heist. His posture was tense, wound up beyond his breaking point, and his large frame shaking ever so slightly.

No one wanted to know what would happen to him if Gavin didn’t come back.

Geoff had cracked open and drained an entire bottle of the first strong liquor he came across upon entering the house, already working on a second one, and Ray had cleaned his rifle four times before sinking into one of the couches with his iPod plugged into his ears as he stared blankly at the ceiling. Michael had paced around the house for hours and punched holes in several walls when his frustration built to a breaking point, but so far he was maintaining his impersonation of a caged animal rather than unleashing everything inside of him just yet.

They were all still waiting. It wasn’t real yet, in a way, until morning came and Gavin still wasn’t back. Until they had a body, or there was news about one of the Fake AH Crew showing up dead. It wasn’t real yet, so they waited.

“Where the fuck is Ryan?” Geoff broke the silence in half-heartedly.

“Probably took off,” Michael growled unpleasantly. It wasn’t unusual for Ryan to go on a killing spree without them to blow off steam or to scratch that homicidal itch inside of him, and it wasn’t like they didn’t have some stress to deal with right now. But still… they were a family, the six… five (?) of them. It wasn’t like they didn’t understand Ryan’s psychopathy, it was just….

“He should be here.” Jack said that time, and no one could argue or comment at the breathy, hoarse tone of said it in.

Rule number one: don’t worry Jack. At least if you could help it.

And this was one of the worst case scenarios: because they’d been missing something Jack could’ve prepared for.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Geoff ordered, sounding strained as he made his command. Jack turned and gave him a steely eyed glare.

“And how can I not?” He demanded back, not aggressively but resolutely, in that calm, reasonable way of his. “We should’ve done more research about the planes, we shouldn’t have stolen the first one we saw- we knew were were going up in the air, we should’ve _checked_ there was more than one parachute or brought out own!” His voice had risen slightly, but he stepped off and took a steadying breath before opening his eyes again and glaring gently at his old friend. “But it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that Ryan should _be here_ right now. Instead of… wherever the hell he is.” He said, his voice trailing off into a listless sort of tone.

“He is here,” Ray broke in, pointing at the ceiling and the lights drifting across it that meant someone with headlights was pulling into their driveway, and they all whipped around to look out the front window.

“What happened to his bike?” Michael grunted, noticing two headlights instead of one.

Jack was slowly sitting up straighter, blinking almost dizzily as he gazed out the window. “Is he… he’s carrying…” He said breathlessly, and the other three of them tensed up. Michael was at the front door instantly, tossing it open and feeling his breath catch in his throat when he saw that, yep, Ryan was lifting a figure out of the back of the obviously stolen car he’d driven here, and cradling the limp form in his arms as he headed for the door.

“Please no,” Jack all but whimpered, frozen by the window unable to tear his eyes away from the masked figure carrying a bloodied, _familiar_ figure up the drive. If he’d brought his body here… they all knew Ryan was insane, but this…

Geoff was on his feet yet seemed just as stuck as Jack. Ray had abandoned his music and looked pale as hell and staring resolutely at the corner behind Geoff’s head. Jack looked about ready to throw up, and Michael was just gaping wordlessly, his cheeks flushed in the way they did when he was about to explode and start screaming.

Ryan didn’t seem to notice any of this as he brushed passed Michael in the doorway, gently shouldering the short red head out of the way when the younger man had almost refused to budge. He strode past Jack and ignored Geoff’s strangled look, jerking his head wordlessly at Ray and sending the young sniper sprawling from the couch immediately. He leaned down and gently placed Gavin’s limp form onto the cushions, and the Brit’s head lolled to the side obliviously.

Ryan stood up and brushed himself off a little, adjusting his ever-present mask and looking around as he finally noticed the room around him. He seemed to recognize for the first time that everyone was staring at him, and he seemed a bit surprised at that by the tilt of his head.

“What?” He demanded under their stares. And Ryan had two, sometimes three modes: the man in the mask (who is the most terrifyingly bloody psychopath on earth and who will kill you in the next five minutes if you didn't watch yourself), the confused child (who sat cross legged on the floor watching Michael and Gavin fight in silent bemusement and then turned to Geoff to tell him a story his past heists), or the nerdy dad (who awkwardly patted Ray on the head instead of speaking or got tangled in wires under their TV as he tried to 'fix the sound' or something like that and ended up rigging something precariously brilliant to do just that) and the person speaking right now was the child. He sounded eternally confused at their reactions, like a puppy who couldn't fathom why their owner was angry about the dead squirrel he'd brought them as a present. 

“What did… how could you…” Jack was having some difficulty putting it to words, but one look at his devastated expression told Ryan all he needed to know, and the Mercenary’s head shot up, his posture tensing a little.

“He’s not dead, you know,” He defended himself a bit petulantly, and just like that they all unfroze into different reactions of shock.

“ _What!?”_ Jack was pushing Ryan out the way and kneeling by Gavin’s side instantly, checking him over for injuries and, despite finding quite a lot, confirming that he was indeed alive. A soft sob of relief escaped him, before his reasonable nature was back in place and he was ordering Michael and Ray to go find some medical supplies, which the Lads did immediately with twin expressions of unwillingly elated shock on their faces.

“Where did you find him!?” Geoff looked to Ryan, who smiled in a pleased way.

“He said he was over Vinewood, so I went to Vinewood.” He shrugged simply, “There was an ambulance in one of the residential areas, and apparently he directed himself into a pool to break his fall. The family that lived there called 911, but I killed them and took him home myself.” He said matter-of-factly, obviously proud of his find.

“He’s not going to be walking anytime soon, both his legs are broken.” Jack frowned, examining Gavin’s injuries. “Looks like a concussion, some bad bruising on his back and some fractured ribs but… that’ll all heal fine in a couple months,” He said like he honestly couldn’t believe he’d just said that. “He _lived_. Jumping out of a plane with no parachute, and he fucking _lived.”_ He repeated in awe.

The quiet feeling of awe seemed to fill the entire house, save for Ryan who had seemed totally unconcerned with Gavin’s almost-death and the future chaos they’d have to endure when Gavin woke up and realized he wasn’t going to be nearly as active as he usually was for a while. In fact, he just sat on one of the recliners and stretched, closing his eyes for a minute like he always did after a big heist and enjoying the moment while the others flipped out over Gavin.

Jack was relieved to the point of pain, but there was a new fear settling in his stomach, just like his old fear of being unprepared only somehow worse now.

Still, as he looked at Gavin’s sleeping expression, he realized that though the others didn’t worry like he did, they _did_ care.

In their own ways.


	4. Chased

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This was a long one!

Ray was the reason there was a lot of debate over if the infamous Fake AH Crew had five or six core members. The police of course knew there was a sixth person involved in most cases concerning the crew since sniper bullets don’t just magically appear from the sky, but it was undetermined if that sixth component was a _member_ or varying people the crew hired for each individual job. Especially since Los Santos seemed to have at least a dozen snipers running around in a given week judging by all the people unexpectedly shot through the eye or the ass every day or so.

The criminal world however, knew damn well there was only one sniper in the city worth a damn at his trade, and he was under Ramsey’s protection. They called him Brownman. 

The police were blissfully unaware of being watched through a sniper scope almost every time they were within earshot of one of the Fake AH crew, whether the bullets rained down or not. They’d only seen the sniper from choppers once in a while when they could trace the shots back to their sources, but since those choppers typically crashed almost immediately after spotting him—a bullet through the pilot’s left eye socket, every single time—no one could _confirm_ if it was the _same_ sniper or not.

Those who saw under the masks of the Fake AH Crew for one reason or another never gave Ray much thought besides wondering what a kid was doing with big time crooks like these. No one even thought twice about how no one in the Crew was immediately threatening besides the Vagabond—not Mogar with red curls, freckles, and dimpled cheeks; not Creeper with his clumsy gait, babbling speech, disheveled look, and childlike laugh; not Beard with his round figure and kindly smile; not even Ramsey himself with his sleepy eyes, laid back posture, and easy laugh. Ray’s apathetic expression over whatever handheld game he was tapping away at despite the violent conversation they often had was the only indication that his seeming youth and innocence was not all it seemed to be, just like Michael’s snarl, Gavin’s wicked grin, Jack’s stern glare, and Geoff’s sly smirk gave them all away in the end.

His quiet, unassuming nature besides his sparks of humor made him easy to overlook, but he preferred it that way. You weren’t supposed to see the sniper, the sniper was supposed to watch you carefully until the perfect moment to pull the trigger. If the sniper was great, you’ve never even know you were even in danger before the world went black around you—and Ray wasn’t confident about much other than that he was an _excellent_ sniper.

His favorite pastime was sitting atop roofs and watching people through his rifle scope, watching each flicker of their face and curve of their body, the way they talked on their phone or bobbed their head to the music in their headphones, hailed a taxi or stretched out on the grass in the park. All the people, just going about their lives and Ray spent _hours_ just watching and lining up imaginary shots and picturing the way their body would slump to the ground or how their blood would explode in graceful clouds if he so chose to pull the trigger. Sometime he took the shot, satisfied with the show before him even if he didn’t choose to kill them. Taking a finger off as they reached for a Frisbee in the air, shooting the phone out of someone’s hand because their mouth moved obnoxiously as they talked, a birthmark on their ankle that was like a natural bull’s eye, the knee of the runner as they went downhill because the aftermath of that was just _hilarious—_ it was all just as interesting as the perfect headshot, and it tested his skills in a pleasantly challenging way.

Ryan was one of the only ones who sat with him every so often in his silent haunting of the city, lying just as motionless beside him with his own rifle— only Ryan took the shots that killed and he did several dozen in an afternoon, breaking away from the younger man’s steady, slow, methodical rate. Ray liked that change of pace sometimes too, shooting a couple people then hopping rooftops, hunting out targets for a couple minutes and repeating the process. Michael too, especially when Ray was out at night, would come and just lay beside him on his back, staring up at the stars and the sky while Ray stared at the city, both of them in compatible silence while Michael relaxed and Ray worked. It was one of the only times Ray ever saw Michael completely calm and at ease while still being awake. 

Jack loved to hear the quieter member of their crew talk for an hour straight about sniping tactics and the people he’d seen that day, and Geoff was quick to boast to everyone that _the_ Brownman was in _his_ crew and everyone else could _“Suck a dick and be hella jealous motherfuckers!”_ , but neither of them tried to step onto his field of play. Both had reached a sort of understanding that looking down a rifle sight on an empty rooftop was entirely Ray’s domain, and instead of daring broach it and treading lightly, they avoided it completely and let the youngest member of their crew shine—even if he was doing it from the shadows, unheard and out of sight. His authority in that world was unquestioned and undoubted.

Gavin however, was another story entirely. At this point, no one would even blink if Ray legitimately shot Gavin if the Brit attempted to accompany him while he worked one more time. He was too loud, he didn’t sit still, he _never_ shut up, he was impatient, and he was absolutely _everything_ a sniper _shouldn’t_ be.

But Gavin was like an infuriating puppy, trailing after Ray and begging to play— which the Puerto Rican sometimes relented to and enjoyed a game or two, but there was a fucking _line_ that Gavin just did not see. Under no circumstances was Gavin allowed on the same roof as Ray while the sniper worked anymore, not since the incident where Ray had legitimately lost his shit when Gavin caused him to miss a shot and literally tossed the Brit off the building. Luckily it was only a two story fall, but no one really doubted that Ray had not been thinking about the height at the time and more just ‘ _please dear god get this asshole away from me’._

That was not to say that Ray didn’t love Gavin back, since the Brit obviously admired and respected his fellow Lad enough to pester him for company constantly, but they were just **so** _different_. It was a classic case of ‘introvert vs extrovert’, in which Ray ran away for some alone time to get his head back on straight where as Gavin clung to the nearest person to him insistently when he was upset. Ray’s perfect night was pizza and video games (preferably a first person shooter—three guesses why) where Gavin’s was a night out at a bar for bevs with a crowd of people. Ray was _always_ serious as hell about the job Geoff had hired him to do despite all that had changed since they’d first met, where Gavin had never once acted grave or professional about his skills, not even when meeting the biggest crime lord in Los Santos or _the_ Mad Mercenary back before they knew the guy was a dorky teddy bear in leather. Ray liked a single shot to get the job done, simply and unobtrusively as possible, slipping back into the shadows and disappearing the instant he was finished, where Gavin went for mass chaos and big explosions and screams of both civilians and sirens echoing from across the entire city, fire and bits of helicopters raining down from the sky.

Sometimes they worked perfectly together, like ying and yang, with Gavin barreling down in the heat of the action with Ray calmly covering him from the threats the sandy blonde didn’t see coming up behind him, the two of them acting like a two-man army when the stars aligned and for once they didn’t get in each other’s way. Sometimes Ray had to physically lock himself or Gavin up just to get some peace and quiet. Sometimes they needed Michael as an intermediary between them, since the red head seemed to understand Ray without words and was never bothered by anything Gavin did (not really, despite how much he yelled), and therefore created a perfect buffer between the two polar personalities.

Most often, it was the crew sighing over their coms as Geoff snapped at Gavin to leave Ray alone so that he could do his fucking job, or Ryan running interference (or just being a body guard almost) when Gavin went searching for his favorite sniper and Ray didn’t want to be found. They’d lost count of the amount of times Ray had to pause and gather himself again in the middle of a heist when time was of the essence because Gavin had distracted him or screwed something up and altered the plan—and forgive him, but snipers didn’t think on the fly, they were all about steady planning and anticipation.

It was like there was this irritatingly fluffy cloud hanging over them, the ever-present threat that Gavin was going to get in Ray’s way because of his oblivious fun, and they’d have to quickly regroup and carry on. It unnerved Ray a little, knowing that the biggest threat to his near-perfect accuracy reputation was _on his team_ and chatting happily in his ear almost every spare second of a heist. It made Geoff roll his eyes in exasperation, and Jack and Ryan threaten Gavin to behave before they ever went out on a job. Michael never seemed bothered at first, but he’d always be the one following Geoff’s orders to physically shut the Brit up or stop him if he got too irritating to the sniper since the two older Lads were typically on the ground together.

 It didn’t change the fact that they were still friends, best friends even, with the three Lads killing it together and shit. Ray loved to play videogames with the guy since it was almost always an easy victory, he was _always_ a riot to hang around with and bust a gut if he ever wanted to laugh for no reason, and if ever he needed to stretch his social muscle, all he needed to do was say a word and Gavin had it covered—complete with explosives and dinner, always remembering to leave the alcohol out and yet still managing to get Ray to have a good time.

And probably most importantly, was that Ray had never felt lonely for a second since joining the Fake AH Crew. His prior lifestyle as a sniper for hire _had_ admittedly been pretty isolated, and though he was suited for it, it _did_ get cumbersome sometimes. Now, the very instant his brain even considered starting to feel alone, Gavin— who seemed to have a radar for loneliness in those around him— was immediately by his side on a couch, curled up around him like a cat and chatting easily about any and everything, asking questions and telling stories and even being a pretty good listener when he sensed Ray had something to say. He made the younger Lad laugh, he gave hugs even when Ray actively avoided them outwardly and yet also kind of needed one, he dropped whatever he was doing just to spend time with his favorite sniper, and god damn if that didn’t feel really good some days.

It all balanced out in the end, but Ray would still claim that Gavin was more of a nuisance to him while they were working than anything, simply by nature of their personalities and skills. Professionally, the two of them just did not match, like the wrong puzzle pieces you kept jamming together in vain hope it’d work out eventually. The six of them as a crew fit together perfectly, but Gavin and Ray were opposite corner pieces with no hope of ever even remotely working together alone.

That is, until the Lads got targeted.

His name was Debroch— just some asshole with plans bigger than his britches that involved the Fake AH crew _not_ being in his way. He was smart enough to stay off their radar until he needed to strike, and he’d _thought_ he had a fool-proof plan to wipe out the main six members in one go.

The only problem was that ‘fool-proof plans’ and the Fake AH Crew did NOT mix, considering it was a crew made up _entirely_ of six crazy fools. They were like, the top of the food chain so far as fools went, and even _their own_ plans NEVER fucking worked, which played in their favor in that no one _else’s_ plans involving them ever worked out right either. The six of them were competent enough to salvage their ruined plans and were well-practiced in doing so at this point, but their enemies were always a bit more conceited and unable to believe that their plans would fail. The Fake AH Crew pretty much _planned_ on their plans going belly up pretty much instantly on a heist, and they were all generally aware at how crap they were at getting shit done, which allowed them the leeway to not get freaked when the shit hit the fan and figure it out anyway.

The fact that none of their enemies had figured out that plans simply did not work on them made it easy to stay on top of things, as assassination and over-throw attempts often just glanced off their backs harmlessly as they ducked and weaved accordingly. Or, you know, went crazy and confused everyone, screwing up their attacks when their targets never showed up where they were supposed to or did what normal, sane people should.

They figured the plan was to hit at Geoff’s heartstrings, aiming for the three youngest of his crew, since his attachment to his crew wasn’t really that secret. Once they had the leverage, it was up in the air as to what they’d do to the crime lord, but it probably wouldn’t be good.

The Mad Mercenary had been distracted by a small army of fledgling fodder that had only been paid half in advanced, since none of them were expected to survive—and not one did. But he was distracted enough by that fight to not see the grenade that got tossed from a building across the street and landed directly in front of Michael and Gavin, who were holding off the cops who’d shown up to try and stop the gang war that’d broken out randomly. It was obvious that the two of them were supposed to duck and cover in an alley, where there was an unmarked van and several highly trained men with guns prepared to kidnap them.

What they did not expect was for Michael to start laughing and immediately kick the grenade with his foot directly upwards like a hacky sack and have it explode mid-air, throwing a cop chopper off-kilter and allowing Jack—flying his own commandeered police helicopter— to shoot it down permanently. In the chaos of the falling bits of flaming helicopter, Geoff caught up with Michael and gunned down some more cops—and Gavin, enjoying the view around him with a wild grin, abruptly spotted the men in the alley.

Upon realizing they’d been seen, they had their guns at the ready immediately and the Brit felt the now-familiar rip of fire lace through his shoulder, and his body dropped like a brick. It was the natural instinct to simply play dead upon the surge of pain, but he was used to it enough by now to manage to get over it quick enough and roll behind the nearest car while crying out a warning over his ear piece.

Geoff and Michael immediately shifted, Geoff still going for the cops but Michael pressing his back to his boss’s and going for the men, and Gavin managed to get to his feet—check that the bullet wound on his arm wasn’t more than a scratch—and began giving some more cover fire to the men who’d been there to ambush them.

It was Geoff who was muttering in confusion as he shot the cops and ducked under a charred piece of ex-helicopter that finally put it together, but by then it was too late. The moment he cursed in realization when he figured out who the real targets of this seemingly random attack were, there was a cry over their coms and Ray went silent, the sniper bullets giving them their main cover ceasing.

Gavin was already sprinting across the street and miraculously not getting hit by the renewed cop fire as he ducked into a new alley, ignoring the screaming pain in his arm and frantically scaling the fire escape he’d watched Ray climb not ten minutes ago, tossing out jokes and a bunch of ‘ _don’t fall Ray!’_   and ‘ _oh, aim for their knobs!’_ s as he went.

By the time he all but fell atop the roof, a helicopter was just taking off—an unconscious man in a purple hoodie very obviously lying on the floor of the aircraft with three men in black hovering over him with shotguns of their own, a pink rifle abandoned on the opposite ledge. Gavin was not nearly as good a shot as Ray was, but he open fired anyway, knowing it was dangerous as fuck and he’d probably hit Ray or the pilot and it’d go crashing and Ray’s die and—

But he couldn’t stop himself from emptying his clip aiming for the men who taken his friend, and unfortunately they ducked behind chopper sides. The most damage it did was hit one guy in the knee and get him shouting in pain next to Ray on the chopper floor, and it wasn’t nearly enough. He’d only paused a second to grab another ammo clip when they raised their guns back, and all of a sudden it seemed to hit him how stupid this was. He had no cover, he’d wasted his bullets, and he couldn’t toss a bomb or a grenade without risking Ray going down with the helicopter too.

For a split second he just stood there, marveling in how thoroughly fucked he was.

And then there was another explosion of pain in his stomach and chest and he hit the ground. There was blood on his lips almost instantly, and all he knew was holy hell that was bad. He couldn’t get enough breathe to say anything, to warn Geoff or Michael or Jack or Ryan or—

Crunching footsteps on the roof gravel stole his attention for long enough for him to look up at a dark silhouette against the noon sun above him. Before he could think or catch his breath, the butt of a shotgun met his temple, and everything went dark.

000

“-didn’ get the red head. They’re all fucking maniacs, everythin’ went to shit the moment we set out fire, but two outta three ain’t bad I suppose. The only reason we snagged the Brit was ‘cause the idiot tried to chase after us ‘n we got ‘im in the chest. Julie’s patchin’ him up now.”

“Ya think Ramsey will go fer it even if we don’ have all ‘is kids?”

“Don’ see why not. Like I said, two outta three ain’t bad.”

“’Suppose you’re right,”

Ray drifted into consciousness slowly, his head aching something horrible but his memories coming back surprisingly clearly.

By the time he’d realized there were other people on the roof with him it had been too late. He’d tried to scramble away but he just wasn’t that great of a hand to hand combat person like Ryan or Michael, and it’d only taken one of the hired guns to pin him to the roof and clamp a drugged cloth over his mouth. He’d tasted the cloying sweetness of chloroform on several occasions before for one reason or another (including that one time with Geoff and a piñata—don’t ask) so the gradually easing back into life made collecting himself easy. He was a sniper, he only had to breath and take it all in before he acted.

Despite his body aching to be moved from the position he had obviously been occupying for a large amount of time judging by the soreness in his arms and legs, he forced himself to hold perfectly still and keep his breathing calm and even—just like he was lining up a shot. There was some sort of restraint on his wrists, which were tied behind his back, but his arms were asleep and so numb that it was impossible to tell just exactly what those restraints were. Duct tape and rope maybe he could handle, zip ties Ryan had taught him how to break out of but it would be a crap-shoot to see if he could actually do it in a pinch.

The surface he was laying on was cool like metal, and rocking slightly. As the drugs wore off, he ascertained it was definitely the floor and not his head swaying like that, so it must’ve been a boat of some sort. And a big boat too, judging by the level of rocking and the fact he couldn’t hear the waves around them despite the fact they were outside, only the wind and the sunlight on his face invading his senses. A big boat meant they weren’t fleeing, they were hiding—from both cops and the big-time crew that was one member down and most definitely hunting them down right this minute.

Or… were they two members short?

Ray focused, finally coming all the way around and replaying the voices he’d just heard that had roused him awake. They had to be guards, he could hear their boots shifting across the deck from him though their conversation seemed to be halting and filled in bored silences, like small talk in the middle of a long watch instead of a conversation to actually exchange information.

They didn’t get ‘the red head’. Which was probably either Jack or Michael, so at least one of them was safe. Something about a plan going wrong, which was absolutely no surprise considering what crew they were dealing with here, so Ray only spared a moment to gloat a little sardonically on the inside at that. But then… they said they’d ‘snagged a Brit’, and ‘got him in the chest’.

That had to be Gavin, there weren’t exactly a lot of British folk in Los Santos on a given day, much less involved in a violent gang war on a day to day basis like Gavin was. And, as Ray thought about it, there was only one person much less one _Brit_ who’d chase after him blindly upon realizing his favorite sniper had been got.

He wanted to groan in exasperation the same as he wanted to give a choked sob, considering that Gavin was most likely somewhere on this boat and being patched up by the enemy for an unknown motive. For some reason these captors needed their prisoners alive, but Ray hadn’t really encountered many kidnappers with that incentive who were up to a lot of good.

Why did Gavin have to follow him!? He was a brilliant hacker, he would’ve been far more use back with the others and helping track these goons down instead of being caught up in this too, and yet he’d missed whatever original trap these guys had set for him and directly into Ray’s. The astounding lack of forethought and planning that had gone into the inane decision to chase after him was so totally _Gavin_ that Ray almost lost it and blurted out a hysterical laugh. He certainly felt hysterical, to say the least.

His heart skipped a beat when footsteps vibrated through the metal floor under his ear, and soon the sound of a door opening and a very familiar voice echoed out on the dock.

“But seriously!? They should call you Hook—or maybe _Smee_ would be a better name. Or better yet, was there a cabin boy in that story? Jim, right?”

“That’s _Treasure Island_ you dick, and for the last god damned time _shut up!”_

Ray fought the urge to smile, realizing that Gavin sounded perfectly fine and was already up to his favorite tactic when he got got by an enemy: annoy the living hell out of them.

“What’ve you got Jules?” One of the guards chimed in, and Ray could almost hear the raised eyebrow in his tone.

The woman who was accompanying Gavin muttered unintelligibly, but it sounded dark and murderous as she positively stomped across the deck. Ray heard Gavin grunt a little as someone obviously hit him, and then there was a dragging sound and awkward footsteps that got closer until a body fell heavily directly to Ray’s right. There was the sound of duct tape being ripped, and Gavin squawked indignantly, fidgeting wildly, and managed to say a syllable before there was a sharp _thwack_ and he seemed to make contact with the ground all over again, falling silent.

“You’ve got a mean right hook for a bird,” The Brit got out as whoever was tying him up stood. He was a bit breathless, so it must’ve been a stomach hit.

Instead of answering her prisoner, there was a loud sound of a boot making contact with flesh, and Gavin yelped.

The woman marched away then, slamming a distant door behind her as she went.

“God, what’d he do?” One of the guards asked incredulously.

“Talked. A lot.” A new voice said bluntly, and Ray almost jumped. He hadn’t even heard the third person, and they were standing directly over the two captives. His short tone and deep voice and silent presence actually reminded him a lot of Ryan, which was kind of terrifying.  

“Aw, just commenting on her lovely hair and her boat and all that jazz! I don’t know how she could’ve taken offense, all I was saying was that she had a nice place— _considering.”_ Gavin chirped, sounding totally unconcerned about his situation.

“Considering _what?”_

“Aw, you know.”

“No, know what?”

“Just, _considering.”_

“What!?”

“ _Don’t_ … encourage him.” The Ryan-like guy above them ground out sharply, and the two guards fell silent the same moment Gavin gave a small gasp of pain. Ray’s stomach leapt, wondering what was happening. “And _you…”_ He suddenly dropped his tone and positively growled, at what he was assuming was the Brit in his grasp. “…better _shut your fucking mouth_ or I will _shut it_ for you.”

Ray’s breathing caught a little at the sheer violence in the tone.

And thankfully no one was watching his “sleeping” face too closely to see his shock when Gavin actually _laughed_. Probably right in this guy’s face, probably with some big wicked grin, probably with no reservations or forethought about what pissing off a guy like this might do.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” he tossed right back, actually managing to sound _flirty._ Which, made Ray’s head spin like a top on confusion. “If you can get me to shut my mouth, I might actually have to sing your praises—so put your money where your mouth is, yea? Or, you know, where _my_ mouth is.” He drawled uncaringly, innuendoes dripping from every syllable.

There was a long pause in which Ray was entirely sure Gavin was about to die, and trying desperately to think of a way to use the element of surprise to win this fight before anything happened. But with his numb arms, the unknown factors beyond his closed eyes… the chances weren’t looking so good.

Ray felt his breath full-out halt in his chest with the silence was broken by a low, grounding chuckle.

“You’re _all_ sorts of trouble, aren’t you?” The man’s deep voice was sharp and curling at the same time.

Gavin hummed lightly. “You’d have to stick around a bit more to figure out just _how much_ trouble I reckon,” He laughed quietly. “Name’s Gav, by the way.”

The Brit made a small sound of pain at whatever the man had done to him now. “Not a chance in hell you’re getting my name, brat.” The man snarled through what was apparently a smile if Ray’s ears hadn’t deceived him.

“Well, if you’re gonna be so unhelpful, I’m going to have to make one up for you,” Gavin was panting, and Ray’s heart leapt into his throat. It sounded like he was being _choked,_ like there wasn’t enough air or space to get his words out. “I think Ima call you _Edgar,”_   His breathless tone sounded as if he were smiling—probably that shit-eating grin Ray had seen so many times before.

If he could’ve rolled his eyes, Ray would’ve. Edgar happened to be Ryan’s arch enemy, the big bad mysterious cow-freak that’d pulled the Mad Mercenary into cooperating with the Fake AH Crew to take him down in the first place, and Ryan had just never left, even after Edgar had been put six feet under. So Gavin had apparently noted the similarities between this new guy and their favorite psychopath as well, and was making a joke of it. Hopefully it was foreshadowing, and the Gents would show up to save the day and Ryan would gut the guy. Ray spent a moment basking in that pleasant thought before focusing again.

“That’s a dumb fucking name,”

“Yeah? What name do you _want_ me to call you?”

“Don’t fucking care, you’re dead meat in this place anyway.”

Ray felt his skin ice over at the ominous words.

Gavin, however, didn’t seem to care as he chuckled tightly through his restricted airway. “Then last thing’s last then—I’ll make the most of this time, eh? I’ll call you Edgar… if I might, _sir?”_

Ray almost choked on air at the last word, his face flushing so hot he was thankful his back was to them. God damn, it was like he was being thermo-cycled!

Because that word, in that tone, did not fit on the lips of someone bound and captive in a hostage situation—it fit on the lips of someone kneeling on the ground with their fingers hooked in someone else’s belt. He’d seen enough porn to know where things went after someone said something like _that._

“Edgar” grunted a little and Gavin gave a small cry as his body seemed to hit the ground once more, small gasps revealing that he’d been released from his chokehold.

“When they kill you…” Edgar was still crouched it sounded, his voice strangely blank. And Ray couldn’t help but notice the ‘when’, not ‘if’. “…perhaps they’ll let me do the honors. You and I might have some fun.”

The words chilled Ray to his core, the same time as Gavin’s slightly drunk-sounding giggles made his face flush even hotter.

“Looking forward to it, luv.” He murmured so softly Ray felt his blush spread from his face to the rest of his body instantly.

God damn it Gavin. _So_ not the time.

But Edgar made no other sound as he stood, and Ray managed to pick up steps so soft and stealthy across the deck that was no way he and Ryan weren’t somehow related.

“X-Ray?”

Ray inhaled a little more sharply than he intended to at the sound of Gavin calling to him. Part of him knew that pretending to be asleep for a bit longer was the best tactic since it would give them the element of surprise, not to mention that if the guards were _waiting_ for them to both be awake to do something to them, pretending would waste time that the Gents and Michael could be using to track them down. But another part of him couldn’t deny Gavin his conscious presence when he heard the note of fear and worry in the Brit’s voice. Ray felt what was probably Gavin’s head as he rested it against the back of his shoulder blades, trying to ascertain if the younger man still had a pulse or whatnot with both their hands still bound.

“Ray?” He said again, and the sniper felt his heart strings get pulled uncomfortably as he felt Gavin nudge and wiggle around him, pulling at the younger man’s restrained arms awkwardly, attempting to roll him over while still uncomfortably bound. Bad tactics aside, he couldn’t ignore this.  

With a small sigh he rolled over of his own accord, groaning softly at the stiffness in his body, He blinked openly blearily at the blinding blue sky above them, but it was blocked out almost immediately as Gavin’s face invaded his field of vision with a blinding grin.

“X-Ray!” He cheered playfully. “Rise and shine sleeping beauty!”

“Shh,” Ray hissed at him, glancing at the guards across the deck that he knew were there but hadn’t seen yet. And yeah, they looked like every other muscle for hire ever, complete with big guns and small brains.

Gavin followed his gaze and then shook his head. “They won’t bother us, it’s not technically us they’re after.” He told the younger Lad, who gave him a confused look. “I heard them talking while I was below deck—apparently we’re just collateral for Geoff. I don’t know what they’ve asked him to do, but I think we can count on him not doing it and coming to rescue us instead.”

“How do you know that? You’ve seen how Geoff reacts when we get hurt, he’s _sentimental_ and shit. He might-”

“I _know_ because I know Ryan puts trackers in your hoodies. They’re probably on their way here now!”

“He _what?”_

“Don’t ask. He waters down Michael’s Red Bull and handcuffs me to random things too—I think it’s how he shows he cares.”

“… he handcuffs you to things?”

“Not like _that,_ I think he just wants to make sure I don’t get lost!”

Ray let his head bang against the deck in exasperation. The tracker thing annoyed him, but he couldn’t deny it was pretty damn helpful in this situation. And it was _Ryan—_ the guy wouldn’t use that information for any other reason than whatever motives he had… and if Ryan had any sort of motives that involved Ray being dead, a _tracker_ would probably be the least of his issues.

“You seem to be taking all this extremely well.” He groaned.

Gavin just shrugged, shifting a little so that he was sitting cross legged over where Ray was trying to lay on his back despite his numb arms still uncomfortably bound behind him. “We just have to stall until the others get here is all. People aren’t that scary, not like explosions or fire-fights and stuff.” He seemed to decide.

Ray frowned deeply. “People are as scary as it gets.” He muttered.

He almost jumped a little when Gavin leaned down and put his forehead against his own, nudging him a little. The motion was awkward in this position, but also really familiar. The Brit did it every time they went out—to a bar, to a party, just out to dinner or anything like that—putting his hand behind the younger man’s head and pulling him in to touch heads, a silent reassurance almost. It never really felt like reassurance, since Ray didn’t really _fear_ going out with people or hanging out in crowds, he just didn’t prefer it. Gavin’s little motion though, always made it a little more tolerable, since it reminded him he had someone to run interference for him. Ray had always just assumed it was something Gavin did to psych himself up for a night of fun, a little ritual to remind himself he had his Lads by his side and amp himself up.

But it was definitely reassurance now.

He felt a little breathless. “Hey… Vav?”

“Yes X-Ray?” The Brit sat up, tilting his head in a distinctly bird-like way as he listened curiously to his favorite sniper—as he always did.

Ray frowned a bit, trying to find the right words. “Why were they patching you up?”

“You were awake for that?”

“Yeah… I woke up right before they brought you out. Just figured I’d play dead instead of risking something.” He admitted a little. And it was true—he had no idea how to handle people, much less captors. All the times he’d been taken before, he usually just sat quietly and waited to figure out what was happening or what they wanted, and then tried to be quiet as they attempted to forcefully _take_ what they wanted. The… banter, or whatever it was Gavin did, was something way out of his realm of comfort.

“We heard you go silent over our comms,” Gavin broke him from his thoughts with an uncharacteristically worried look. “I climbed up to your roof just as they were about to get out of there, but I didn’t really think it through-” That did not surprise Ray in the slightest “-I ran out of bullets and they shot-gunned me in the chest.”

Ray’s heart jumped a bit. “Body armor?”

“Always,” Gavin flashed him a reassuring grin, and Ray relaxed a fraction. “Knocked me off my feet though, not to mention all my air. Must’ve bit my tongue too, and I inhaled a bit of blood or something, and I got nicked in the fire fight with the cops, so they figured I needed a little patch work before they do whatever it is they’re going to do to us.”

Ray nodded slowly. “Which… will probably not be good.” He sighed.

“Nope,” Gavin grinned, not seemingly overly concerned with this. “But I’d reckon the others will be here by then, so try not to worry.”

Ray offered him a small, half smile at that, before returning to his troubled thoughts.

“And… and what about with that guy? Edgar 2, or whatever?”

Now Gavin fully frowned, looking a bit confused. “What about him?”

“Why… why were you…” His brow furrowed, unable to come up with the right words and just spit it out. He felt his cheeks color a bit though, and Gavin immediately spotted that and figured it out.

“Flirting with him?” Gavin cocked an eyebrow, his lips curled slightly but not mockingly. He seemed to sense Ray’s unwillingness to even ask, and didn’t push. “I’m a people person, X-Ray. He was one of the goons guarding me while I was at the doc’s, and I just saw the way he was looking at me.” He admitted.

 _And used it,_ Ray filled in the missing pieces. For all his observations, for all the time he spent watching people, Ray _really_ didn’t know much _about_ people. He couldn’t guess the way they’d act outside of textbook guys with guns, he couldn’t predict what they’d say or spot their weaknesses apart from physical ones. But Gavin… Gavin lived off interaction with people, it was his life-source the way being alone was Ray’s. He knew how to play a person, how to wiggle his way out of tight spots just by talking—by annoying/angering those who’d fall for it, by cuddling close to those who’d let him in with misplaced trust, by flirting it up with those he knew would take the bait of the seemingly advantageous situation they were in over the tied up Brit.

Ray had been entirely ready to classify this goon as a Ryan doppelganger, or equate him to the Mad Mercenary in some way, but he’d been dead wrong. Gavin had clearly sensed something else, something that’d told him that flirting was the best way to go instead of rolling over or getting even more on his bad side.

“You think… he’ll fall for it?”

“What? For _me?”_ Gavin tilted his head, giving it honest thought. “Well, people like that are independent, competent, only here for some amount of money that keeps them going. When they’re that good, the job is their lifestyle, and the money is what keeps them in supply of bullets, not the motivation or anything—just like Ryan was before our crew.” Ray felt himself drawn in, never having thought of who Ryan had been before they’d met, much less that there could be more people like him out there. The Vagabond was just the best, the most famous and most successful it seemed, but now that he thought about it surely there were others, like Edgar 2.

“He’ll only risk something if he knows, or is arrogant enough, to think it won’t affect the end outcome—i.e., whatever death or payout they’re looking for.” Gavin continued, looking thoughtful as he pieced his logic together. “The only way that helps us is if whatever he plans to do to me takes long enough for the others to get here first, because I’m sure he’s looking forward to killing _someone_ in this mission so he won’t be sidetracked or talked out of that at the very least.”

Ray tried to absorb that. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” He said slowly, slightly suspiciously.

His heart skipped a beat when Gavin flashed him a cheeky grin and winked coyly. “When we get out of this, remind me to tell you sometime about how I met Ryan.”

Ray’s mind raced. “Wait, _what?_ Ryan—you fucking—!?”

Gavin giggled devilishly. “There’s a reason Rye-Bread doesn’t drink anymore—least not ‘round me.” He laughed, and Ray felt his face slacken in shock.

“What did you _do?”_

“Nothing too terrible,” Gavin evaded quickly, his eyes flashing mischievously. Then, the door on the other side of the deck banged open, causing them both to glance at some new men—flanked in their hired muscle—spilling out and blinking into the sunlight. Gavin quickly turned to the boy beside him with an urgent expression.“I have an idea, but you have to play along,”

“Play along!?” Ray inhaled sharply. Acting? Not his thing.

“Please X-Ray, we just have to stall a little bit!”

“I… I can’t-!”

“Then pretend you’re mute. I’ll talk for ya, ok? You just have to nod and go along with what I say—and _don’t_ looked surprised. Look anything but surprised.” He insisted, and Ray felt his face drain of color. Just… blank, he could do blank maybe.

“…ok.” He agreed weakly, sensing that this was a horrible idea. But… it wasn’t like he had a better idea. He just had to trust Gav to do this. 

“Oh, and when I say _‘drop’_ —hold your breath.”

Ray shot him a panicked look at that ominous instruction, but by then the new comers had marched close enough to be within earshot and they had to turn and face them, keeping their eyes on their captors carefully. Edgar 2 was hovering to the side, not quite behind the obvious leaders of this operation so to separate himself from a regular grunt, but not quite in a decision making position either. Ray continued to draw similarities to him and Ryan: in the beginning Ryan had been more of a high end hire for Geoff and Jack’s dealings, still under their payroll by not making any calls concerning the jobs. Not exactly a muscle for hire either, since his skills went _way_ beyond normal grunts, so he was more like their ace in the hole, their knight or their ringer, not in charge but definitely not the normal player either, just somewhere in between.

That probably meant, outside of the dozen or so muscles with guns on deck at the moment (not to mention how many were probably elsewhere on the boat) Edgar 2 was probably their biggest threat. Not considering what skills the three obviously in-charge fellas standing in front of them now might bring to the table, but Ray quickly discredited them. They were round and plump, evidently guys who sat behind a desk petting a cat and smoking a cigar while their underlings did all the hard work and they just reaped the benefits, not like Geoff who ran an empire and was elbow-deep in its dirty workings on a daily basis.

Then again, he was thinking about a physical fight, and that wasn’t what they were onto right now. Even if it were a physical fight, even these fat lumps might be able to pin him, just considering their shear mass difference. Both of them, now that Ray thought about it, were the two smallest/skinniest of the crew, and here they were being guarded by a small army—it would’ve made sense had they managed to kidnap Michael like it seems the original plan was, but since they hadn’t it sorta seemed like overkill.

Overkill that they weren’t going to escape from.

The three bosses came to stand in front of their captives, one of them taking the lead. Ray couldn’t tell if the other two were sidekicks or partners or what, but he focused on looking small and blank and unaffected by all of this.

“Unfortunately for you two fucks, Ramsey is being less than cooperative.” The lead one announced, looking unamused but not surprised. Ray wasn’t surprised in the slightest either— he had no idea what their plans were or what they were going for, but ‘cooperative’ and ‘Ramsey’ did not belong in the same sentence on any day, in any situation.

“On the upside,” Another of the bosses chimed in, getting a feral grin on his lips. “We’ve got a _new_ deal in the works that it just as well for us. Better even, since we never really planned on Ramsey paying full up just because we asked nicely.” He said with a smarmy smile that made Ray want to gag.

“But you see, the thing is…” and oh god how Ray didn’t like that tone of voice, especially when his muddy green eyes turned to look at _him_ with a leering sneer on his lips. “… we only need _one_ of you brats as collateral. Ramsey didn’t take the original deal we offered him, and since he missed his opportunity the new one only involves _one_ living hostage in return for his cooperation.”

Ray felt his heart stop, but upon catching sight of Gavin’s placid, unworried smile he forced himself to remain stoic. _Gavin has to have a plan, Gavin had to have a plan, he **has** to have a plan…_ he chanted to himself, begging whatever deity was listening right then that it was true.

“Which one, do you think?” He mused as he turned to his right hand men, and Edgar 2 actually stepped up a bit to get involved in the conversation. The three bosses cast quick looks at the mercenary, but didn’t object. Despite how out of turn it might be, with the kind of skills and expertise someone like Edgar or Ryan offered couldn’t be ignored.

However, the difference between Ryan and this Edgar was that Ryan _never_ so much as blinked away from his goal—no vice on earth could distract him from a target, be it drugs, alcohol, women, _men,_ or any other addiction, it didn’t faze him. Edgar though… had his eyes on Gavin.

“This one might prove to be interesting,” He nodded towards the Brit, and Gavin answered him with a dazzling smile.

“Aw, thanks luv.” He cooed.

Ray was trying not to shake, but his breath was coming a bit unsteady.

The bosses raised their brows at the flirty tone, exchanging looks before one of them gave Edgar a hard stare. “We don’t have time for whatever sick pleasure you get out of masochists,”

Gavin made a squeak of indignation, but he was ignored as Edgar took a step forward and the bosses tensed slightly, one of them actually leaning back a bit from his presence. “ _Time?”_ he mercenary growled in a way that sent shivers up Ray’s spine. Ryan _never_ got angry, he was always perfectly calm in his psychopathy, but the idea of him getting mad was truly terrifying, and since he’d been drawing comparisons between the two killers all afternoon it hit home even harder. “We’re minutes away from being in international waters and can raise a distress flag should Ramsey try anything way out here and he won’t be able to prove a thing, especially since he’s so well known a crook! From where I’m standing we’ve got _all_ the fucking time in the world, and you asked me to get the information one way or another and I’m telling you that breaking _him_ will be easier.”

As if to prove a point he strode forward to stand behind the Brit, grabbing Gavin by the hair roughly, hauling him to his feet and yanking his head back over his shoulder. He pulled a knife from literally nowhere and held it to his throat so roughly and threateningly, a line of blood ran down his tan skin almost immediately, but the Brit didn’t cry out. Instead, he laughed a little in a way that increased the blood flow worryingly.

“ _Why do you work for Ramsey?”_ He snarled, and Gavin let out a peal of nearly hysterical giggles.

“Met ‘im in a bar, he bought me a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. He’s a good time, if you know what I mean,” He all but purred, and Ray nearly dropped his jaw in shock—but quickly remembered the only rule he had to follow was to _not_ look surprised, so he quickly twisted his face into another default: annoyance.

It was a struggle though. Ray knew for a _fact_ that Gavin had _not_ met Geoff in a bar and what he was saying right now was utter bullshit, but… for fuck’s sake, something about his tone and that purring made it so damn hard not to believe him, or at least spark a little uncertainty in Ray’s stomach.

“And if _I_ could show you an even better time…” Edgar suggested, his voice not snarling anymore but rough and demanding still.

Gavin hummed playfully, seeming to think it over. “It’d have to be one _hell_ of a time, mind you. Ramsey is _quite_ talented, not to mention that Vagabond of his is _really_ something. If you think you’re up to it…” He rolled over thoughtfully, with so many innuendos Ray was sure his face was bright red. It wasn’t like they didn’t joke… and think like that sometimes, but… but the way Gavin said it now Ray just _believed_ him despite knowing it was all lies, and it got him hot under the collar despite the inappropriateness of the situation.

But apparently he wasn’t the only one, as Edgar leaned back and relaxed the knife at Gavin’s throat to shoot the bosses’ a loaded, smug look, while the three pudgy men looked suddenly a lot more interested than they were a minute ago. It was an interest that turned Ray’s stomach, and even more so when he realized he’d been entirely forgotten about as almost everyone who’d heard Gavin speak was now looking the Brit up and down like a piece of meat—and Gavin was grinning happily, leaning back into Edgar’s grasp like he was showing off for them and all their attention.

“What about this one?” one of the bosses gestured to Ray, and he cursed himself. He wasn’t _entirely_ forgotten, just forgotten enough that now there was this unspoken decision in the air about which captive they were going to kill.

“Too scared,” Edgar dismissed, not even glancing at the younger man on the deck, but at Gavin with obvious ill intent in his eyes as he pulled the Brit slightly closer and spun the knife in his other hand distractedly. “Probably loyal to Ramsey through fear, he won’t give.”

Did he really look that pathetic? God damn it.

“He’s mute too,” Gavin offered up smoothly, leaning more into Edgar, less like a captive and more like a cat seeking attention. The mercenary seemed to like that a lot, and stepped back a little more to allow Gavin more space to lean as he looked up at the man’s face behind him, mere inches away now. “So getting him to talk with be _quite_ difficult.”

One of the bosses chuckled a bit. “Well, that settles it,” He shrugged, putting a hand on the gun in its hip holster.

Ray inhaled sharply, eyes searching everywhere for a way out, but came up empty in his panicked mind.

“But he’s cute, don’t kill him!” Gavin complained whiningly, but Edgar just jerked him a little to get him to shut up.

“Sorry, but Ramsey’s the one who fucked up.” A boss huffed, slipping his gun out.

“Fuck Ramsey!” Gavin cried indignantly, much to almost everyone’s surprise. He turned his head and gave a bright smile to Edgar before purring, “Sorry luv, but I need to borrow this,”

He jerked his head back and Edgar gave a sharp yell as his nose instantly started gushing blood. Gavin fell forward a little, and suddenly his hands were free—still strapped in duct tape, but separated, a hunting knife in his hand that he’d obviously picked from the mercenary who’d been holding him.

It all seemed to happen at once: one of the bosses raised their gun, all the hired muscle watching the exchange started to move forward, Edgar got his footing and made to grab him, and Gavin lurched sideways and yelled, _“Drop!”_

Blankly Ray remembered the other rule Gavin had given him, and held his breath.

And suddenly he was airborne, a sharp pain radiating up Ray’s arms agonizingly as he was apparently pulled up into the air by his sore and bound wrists. There were bullets whipping by his head, the sound of gunshots and indistinguishable yells, and then he hit the water with an explosion of cold and pain. He held his breath as he was pulled sharply down—so sharply it was like there was a ten ton weight attached to his arms and in two seconds the water got darker and darker and the _pressure-!_

And then the weight disappeared along with the restraints on his hands as the duct tape snapped under the strain and he was suddenly just floating there, but could definitely move. Immediately he started kicking in an attempt to find air, ignoring the screaming in his arms as they objected to the sudden movement after so long of being still. He kicked and kicked until finally it started getting lighter and he inhaled sharply when his head broke the surface.

The boat, despite its size, was already way ahead, and it was so large that he wasn’t sure if it was turning back or not. Actually… yeah, it was turning a bit, but not from the steering, but from the anchor line that’d been dropped.

The _anchor—_ holy fuck, had Gavin tied him to the _anchor?_ _When_ had he… oh, when he’d been trying to ‘wake’ him. And then… he must’ve triggered— but how…

He wanted to swim after the boat, but he could still hear gunshots and see distant splashes where they were trying to shoot him, probably not taking into account the boat was still drifting enough to move it way away from him. Even if he could help Gavin, there was no way he’d make it onto the boat without getting shot, and it wasn’t like he was much good in hand-to-hand. Anything beyond sniping and video games, and he might as well be an infant and…

Oh god. Gavin was still on that thing, they were still shooting and their plans with him were still in place but probably a bit more vindictive now that he’d helped one of their captives escape and _he_ was the one with the tracker, not Gavin so how would the others-!?

There was a low growl of an engine close to his head and he jerked around in a panic, wondering if they’d sent life boats out after him.

His heart skipped several beats when he saw a familiar black speeder with an even more familiar mop of red curls on the bow as his brown eyes scanned the sea around where the anchor line went into the water. Looking back at the ship behind him and deciding it was worth a risk, he kicked harder and waved his arms above the water briefly, and saw the moment Michael spotted him, watching from afar as he pointed at the Puerto Rican in the water to whoever was driving.

In seconds they were on him, hauling him up onto the boat. It was just Michael and Jack, and the first thing they did was wrap him in a tight hug before Jack went back to the wheel and started trailing the ship again, trying to be directly behind them so as not to be spotted.

“Shit dude, you ok? We saw you get tossed by the anchor, but just— _holy shit,”_ Michael seemed to be at a loss to convey what he’d just seen, looking more than a little uneasy about the fact his two fellow Lads had been taken from him and then ransomed and whatever else they’d been messaging to Geoff.

“Gavin,” Ray spat out as a one-word explanation, still a bit breathless from his ordeal. “I just—dude, he still on there and we need to get him _now.”_ He tried to convey the time crunch they were on, but the other two didn’t look quite _as_ concerned as Ray thought maybe they should be.

“Geoff and Ryan are already on it, they took the opportunity of the boat slowing down with the anchor to dive in the try and infiltrate through the back, and I think I spotted them climb up the back way a couple minutes ago. Michael swore he saw you fall in with the anchor though, so we’ve been scanning a bit.” Jack explained calmly.

“Thank fuck you did,” Ray shivered a little, and Michael pulled a blanket out from under the seat to wrap around him. “Hey, why aren’t you up there with them?” He wondered to the young red head, who shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Oh, you know… this was meant to trap all of us, not just you and Gav. Geoff gets protective when shit like this happens.” His eyes were tight as he spoke, so it was probably already an argument that’d happened and Ray decided to drop it quickly. “So, did you figure out what they wanted from us? Because Geoff has a theory, something about a power play.”

“No, we just…” Ray trailed off. Where did he even _begin_ to explain the things Gavin had said to them? The game he was playing and the position he put himself in? Oh _fuck_ , he had to make it out of there unscathed or Ray could _never_ begin to explain…

He was saved when an explosion went off that seemed to shake the air, and the front part of the ship went up in a colorful cloud of orange and black and light. Jack put the boat in higher gear immediately and they began to move carefully towards the boat, searching for the other half of their crew. After about a minute Michael spotted another life raft zipping out from the other side of the ship from them and they circled back carefully at first, and then the two boats began to race full-pelt back to land when the recognized each other’s occupants. There were six bodies accounted for as they made their escape, but since the life raft wasn’t that quick or powerful of an engine, the minute the burning ship was out of sight they slowed down and drifted closer to each other to inspect that everyone was ok.

“My boi!” Michael yelled happily as Ryan handed the Brit across the space between boats and into the red head’s bear hug, and Gavin let out a weak laugh, sounding tired as hell but quite happy to be back with his crew.

The second Michael was done, Ray stepped up and looked the sandy blonde up and down. He had a new bullet wound in his side, but it didn’t look too bad. There were marks on his face, which would obviously be dark bruises in a couple hours. His lip was split, his shirt was ripped, and he looked twice as disheveled as he had since Ray had saw him last not fifteen minutes ago.

God damn this guy.

He welled up, “Of all the _dangerous_ , **impulsive** , STUPID things to do-!?” He cut himself off, his anger building and suddenly quitting itself. Gavin seemed to shrink in on himself a little, looking abashed but resigned and somehow still determined.

He would’ve done it anyway, Ray saw that clear as day.

No matter what he said, Gavin would have done it anyway to save his favorite sniper, insane and dangerous as it’d been. He didn’t care, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Thank you.” Ray decided to say instead, and the Brit looked up with a startled, excited look.

He didn’t say anything else, Gavin just tossed himself around the smaller man in a tight hug. “You’re welcome X-Ray.” He said happily, and Ray gave a small, tired sigh as he gently returned the hug.

Gavin was going to be the death of him.

But at least he wouldn’t be alone when he went.


	5. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1!   
> Next part: KICK ASS GAVIN

Geoff was a father, brother, mentor, and boss all rolled into one to Gavin. Burnie may have been the one who snuck him into the cargo hold of the boat that brought him to America, but Geoff was the one who’d given him his second life across the pond.

There was a _reason_ Geoff owned Los Santos, as both crime boss and owner of its deeds and finances. He was an entrepreneur who never let go of his roots, who called the shots now but was not afraid to roll up his thousand dollar suit sleeves and get to work along with the little grunts he hired as cannon fodder, not just his main crew. He drank hundred dollar whiskey, but he’d take the cheap crap in a second if it were the only thing available. He preferred nice bullets, but had no issue with using his fists or a kitchen knife if that was what was at hand. He lived in the penthouse of the tallest skyscraper in the city, but he routinely crashed in fifty dollar a night motels for weeks on end when lying low after a heist.

He was realistic high class, as Ryan put it. He was still just a poor rural kid from Alabama with big dreams—just with nicer clothes and lots of resources now.

He hadn’t gone to college, but he was probably the smartest of them all so far as business and street smarts went. Ryan, though he never confirmed it, was smart in a lot of traditional, bookish ways, but he was far too silent and/or dorky to get far with people. He typically just killed people and left it at that.

But Geoff, despite his hatred of the animal, was a snake charmer. He got his way, and that was that; if he needed to use words, bribes, or violence to get it, then god fucking damn it he was gonna do it. He had big dreams, and it almost never ended when he _got_ those dreams, it was more just about the journey. He wanted it all, and one person, one dollar, one block at a time he _got it_.

If he’d chosen to be a politician, he would’ve been as crooked as they come but he _would’ve_ been the one in office and the people he represented would’ve been the happiest on earth, even if it was at cost of those neighboring them. Geoff put his mind to something and just _did it_ , seemingly without trying. Those who knew him saw the gears turning behind his deceptively sleepy blue eyes, the cunning behind the lazy twirling of his mustache, and the cleverness behind his third glass of scotch.

They also saw the hours of endless hard work he put into everything he did, but if anyone asked then you’re _god damn right_ it was easy as pie. Ask more questions and suffer a broken jaw. That was just the way it was.

If Gavin was good at underestimation, then he learned half of it from Geoff, easily. The man _had_ practically raised him since he was seventeen.

Geoff cared deeply about his own, and he was absolutely ruthless about protecting them. You were either on his list or you weren’t, and your chances of survival were drastically different depending on that status. If you were on his list of people to care about, he knew your name and your birthday and your little sister’s favorite color. He knew what food you liked and where you came from and what kind of flowers your mother liked for mother’s day. If you needed a favor he’d do it without question, sparing no expenses. If you were sick or hurt, he sent his own private doctor he paid off to check up on you and then personally ensure you were ok. He’d even sneak you Five Guys or something if you were hospitalized and surviving off mush and jello, brightening your room with his smile and slightly off-beat humor and cracking jokes at the nurses.

If you _weren’t_ on his list, and you stepped across his path, he’d most likely shoot you in the head. Even if he were just strolling by, he might just be struck by the mood and start shooting for no apparent reason at all, or just for a laugh.

If you were on the _bad_ list, the _‘I don’t like you’_ list, then you were living on borrowed time.

After all, Geoff Ramsey had Jack, aka the best second in command on earth. Jack, who kept actual physical copies of these lists for Geoff to never forget them, as well as a highly organized spreadsheet of everyone on their payroll, every gun, bullet, bomb, and car in their possession, and every dime they could spend on bribes and furthering their intentions—not to mention an ever-present cell phone that could call any guy they needed and get _whatever_ the hell Geoff wanted at that moment to their door within the hour.

 Geoff had _the_ Mad Mercenary, the greatest killer in the country at the moment, drinking tea on his couch every other morning. He had one of the world’s greatest, most accurate and mistake-proof snipers eating pancakes over a handheld gaming device in his kitchen like clockwork. He had two absolutely _insane_ kids who loved chaos, death, and explosions watching Saturday morning cartoons in his living room every week without fail, who looked up to him like an idol and would blow up a stadium without blinking if Geoff asked them to, even if he didn’t really have a reason for doing so.

He had the best fucking crew in the world, and anyone who disagreed would meet a swift end.

In the beginning it’d just been him and Jack. Jack was the one who directed him into going from just being content to wanting _more_ , and Geoff had never stopped. Burnie had sent them Gavin for a job, and the Brit had just never left. Gavin was the first time Geoff had ever felt _responsible_ for someone, since Jack could always take care of himself, or at least since Geoff had known him. The Brit was just… helpless, in a way. Clueless about his own mortality, or at the very least uncaring.

Which, didn’t bode well because he had annoyingly wormed his way into the future crime boss’s heart almost immediately. They just got along, asking horrible questions that never tripped either of them up, not just crossing but flat out _ignoring_ any and all boundaries normal people had with each other. Geoff had never had anyone who just understood him completely without ever speaking a word about it before, and it made him oddly protective of the Brit. If for no other reason than that Gavin was completely not concerned about protecting himself.

Geoff could pick on the kid, but anyone else was hypocritically beaten to hell for doing so. The rest of the crew had eventually been allowed to bust the Brit’s chops too, since they all got close as well, but there was always that invisible line you didn’t cross with Gavin while Geoff was around. Geoff could give him absolute hell, but everyone else was forbidden.

Gavin was the first of the crew, in a way. When it’d just been Geoff and Jack, it had been a partnership, but the minute they’d adopted a confused young Brit into their duo, it’d officially become a _crew._ A nice little nuclear family, really. Michael and Ray had extended the family, becoming Gavin’s brothers in a way and giving Jack some grey hairs in his beard from trying to keep them all alive and contained, and then Ryan…

Ryan was like the antsy teenager of the family, who did whatever the fuck he wanted to and then came home to a lecture from Jack about not killing people when they were trying to lie low or a shouting match with Geoff if he’d killed someone the crime lord had actually wanted to keep around for future use. He wasn’t _quite_ a child like the three younger members, but he wasn’t exactly in charge or parental like the two eldest member, he just fit easily somewhere in between them all, choosing to be one way or the other or going completely rogue, depending on the day. He was a Gent by default since he wasn’t quite _as_ immature as the Lads when it came to their work.

He was more professional and serious than _all_ of them by far when out for a heist, but then again sometimes Jack would wake up in the middle of the night to get a drink and find a baffled Ryan scratching his head in the kitchen with a dead body at his feet and a disassembled toaster on the counter asking if they had any chocolate milk (Jack would usually just sigh wearily and pour him a glass before heading back to bed and letting him deal with all of that himself).

He got along great with Jack and Geoff in their professional skills, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t keep pace with Gavin on their bikes, blow up just as much chaos as Michael, or snipe just as patiently as Ray. He just… fit everywhere and nowhere all at once.

They all had their rolls like that, and Geoff relished in keeping them that way, close to him and safely, peaceably in their little family. And to him at least, Ryan was a Gent because of one of the bigger lines that he himself defined between Gent and Lad: the Gents could take care of themselves. Geoff barely ever worried when Jack or Ryan were in trouble, since he knew they were more than capable, but the Lads…

Michael was too impulsive, too naïve and eager and temperamental. Just a _flicker_ of that rage of his and all logical thinking went out the window, and that was a dangerous situation for everyone involved—which was often what they were going for, but sometimes it put Michael himself at risk and it made Geoff worry a bit.

Ray wasn’t that good of a fighter, despite the fact he was _the_ best sniper in the world. He wasn’t affected by anything, gruesome or otherwise; he was probably the most emotionally stable one of the entire crew, and could handle almost anything life threw at him with a roll of his eyes and a sarcastic comment. But he wasn’t that strong—any situation where he was too close to the violence, and Geoff worried for his safety.

Gavin… was different. He wasn’t _that_ great of a fighter, only really coming through when it truly counted, but he was sturdy as hell. You could beat him, trip him, strangle him, shoot him, push him off a building, and in a week or so he was back to normal, grinning and laughing and jumping off skyscrapers or gunning his bike full-throttle like he didn’t know what pain was. He acted like an idiot who didn’t know how to hold a gun properly, but he was also scarily competent sometimes—lucky maybe, but it was a consistent sort of luck if it was.

It was mainly just his inability to acknowledge danger that set Geoff on edge. All of them were crazy and loved a good heist, especially if they had a few close calls to raise the stakes a little, but Gavin took it to new extremes. Geoff suspected that he actually _purposefully_ screwed things up sometimes, just for a laugh, not even thinking about being concerned about how close the bullets were flying or how hot the explosions around him were getting. He was entirely unafraid of pain or death or responsibility, and Geoff—a normally kicked back, mercilessly playful guy like Gavin as well—was left to be the one to worry about him.

No one could make Geoff more serious than Gavin could, just the same as no one could make him laugh harder or be more carefree than Gavin could. It was a double edged sword, a line that Geoff struggled to walk some days.

 And it all came down to perception.

Who was Gavin today? A brat with a bomb that needed to be leashed, or someone who actually knew what he was doing?

Geoff _never_ knew. Every day, it was a fucking coin toss, and it drove him up the wall as well as entertained him, training him to stay on his toes.

The problem was, that Gavin never explicitly _said_ what he was good at. He was tossed into Geoff’s lap by Burnie, when Geoff had wanted to cash in a favor that Burns didn’t have the resources to deliver on, so the fellow crime boss had given him a number of “ _a guy that can get any information you need.”_ When Geoff had rung, he’d been greeted by a chipper tone and a British accent, and two days later he had a sandy haired teen at his front door, sporting a parachute and a black eye over a wickedly excited grin.

That first heist, all they needed was an access code to a vault that only another crime lord in town knew in order to pull it off seamlessly. Back then, when it was just Geoff and Jack, other crime lords were _much_ bigger problems than they were now that the Fake AH Crew had a monopoly on Los Santos, especially since they didn’t want their names out where people could target them before they really got off the ground.

Within an hour of meeting him and discussing the job, Gavin had said something Geoff never forgot.

“ _I’m good and blowing things up and flying stuff yeah, but I’m **properly** good at one thing: getting information. It’s always one of three methods: spying, hacking, or infiltrating. Give me two days, I’ll get you your codes.” _

Eight o’clock the morning of their heist, Gavin had reappeared with the correct codes and then watched from the sidelines as Jack and Geoff scored huge. Upon their return, Geoff had offered him a more permanent position, and the rest had been history. It really didn’t take that long for the Brit to worm his way into the duo’s hearts, so the sharp turnaround from strangers to crewmates wasn’t at all surprising to anyone.

But that one statement about how he operated was all the crew ever knew about his actual skills—skills he rarely used since they had a full crew now, and skill that they’d all almost completely forgotten he had. Sure, he’d sometimes bury himself behind a bank of computers to hack for some information, but Geoff had never seen him act on his infiltrating or spying techniques. Apparently he only did it when he was working solo, and since he was clingy as hell he hadn’t left the crew’s side in years now, the opportunity had never shown.

Who he was when he was _with_ them didn’t really inspire much confidence either. He was the playful one, the one screwing things up, the life of the party but also the ticking time bomb of stupidity.

So of course, Geoff didn’t even think twice in saying: “ _Fuck_ no!”

“Geoff _please,”_ Gavin half begged, looking a little hysterical. The entire crew was clustered around their dining room table—something they rarely used beyond the extremely rare poker games Jack liked to host among them sometimes. Really, its only purpose at this point was to be the area in which they met when serious shit went down, and it was showing.

Ryan had his mask on, arms crossed over his chest and perfectly silent as he stood as if on guard behind the chair Geoff was sitting in at the head of the table. Ray had his head on his arms on the table in the chair to his right, looking blankly at the wall across from him and obviously not really seeing anything. Michael was pacing along the side of a room like a caged animal that was about to lash out at the walls around him, fidgeting and snarling to himself as he took this mess in. Jack was trying his hardest to remain calm and the voice of reason in the room in the chair opposite Geoff. Gavin was standing up from his own chair opposite Ray, fists clenched and looking frustrated and slightly scared.

“Shut up Gavin.” The crime lord told the Brit firmly, but Gavin didn’t retake his seat. Geoff pointedly ignored him and returned to the screen in front of him, which was streaming from their current opponent: a man with silvering hair and a regal, calm expression despite the outrage he was being faced with.

“You need to pick three of them.” The man said simply.

“Fuck you,” Geoff growled, leaning back in his chair and thinking this over carefully.

This guy… this _mother fucker,_ had the _gall…_

He sighed, feeling the stress about to give him a headache. Or, you know, it might’ve been the poison.

This stupid asshole had intercepted and spiked a bottle of whiskey Burnie had sent him as a birthday present, and by the time Geoff had noticed that it’d tasted off, it’d been too late. Not too late to smack it out of Gavin’s hand before the kid could take a sip of his own glass, but too late for him at least.

The thing is, there _was_ a cure. A cure that this particular silver-haired bastard had access to. Sure, Geoff could get his own people working on the cure, but even with how awesome they were it’d take them at least a week to make it properly, and at this point Geoff only had about three days left.

This guy… this, this… he was running out of things to call this—this _mincey prick_ (to borrow a phrase) would have the antidote sent to an agreed upon location with a messenger if they, in turn, retrieved something for him. And not a simple something, but a _particular_ something that apparently only existed in the private safe of a crime lord in a city about eight hours north of here.

And this crime lord, his name was Domino, and he ran Port Diego like Geoff ran Los Santos. Big crime lords didn’t fuck with other crime lords when they didn’t intersect, because it was a recipe for disaster. The fact he and Burnie were friends were a damn near miracle, but Burnie was like a thousand miles away in the northeast and that distance helped in keeping them out of each other’s hair beyond when they needed to cash in a favor.

Breaking into Domino’s private place and cracking his safe… that was ballsy, not to mention stupid. Risking a gang war with so much distance between them would spread everyone thin and a lot of both crews would be lost. Not to mention that if he died there’d be a vacuum of power in Los Santos, and it’d destroy everyone Geoff had under his wing right now. Not just the civilians who didn’t realize they lived in protected territory, but shop keepers, cops, workers, _everyone_ who was part of the system and who was either making a good living and supporting families by being paid off for information and who were kept safe and taken care of when other, rouge criminals came sweeping through. And justice according to Ramsey was swift and final, deaths were compensated with _huge_ chunks of money to support widows and orphans, and any crime that was not _his_ crime was wiped out as soon as it reared its ugly head. He didn’t just run this city, he _cared_ for it, and putting all that at risk for a stupid gang war ‘cause this shit-face wanted him to play fetch _wasn’t gonna happen._

Then again, if he died from the poison, his system would crumble all the same.

Damn this guy.

And double damn him because he didn’t want the _six_ of them to go as a group either. There was a private jet waiting to take three or less of them to Port Diego to do this crappy job, but at least three had to stay here as collateral. Collateral for what, Geoff had no idea, but he figured this guy better be covering all his bases because the _second_ he got a clear shot at him he was gonna be fucking _dead_ as a doornail.

That clear shot was nowhere in sight though, because in front of him were three sets of contact lenses—with cameras attached. Everything those with these lenses in saw, so would they and so would this bastard running this thing, just to be sure they didn’t go rouge or try and turn this around on him.

“It’s all of us or nothing.” He growled, but even as he said it he knew it wasn’t true. He could already feel the weakness in his limbs as the poison took hold, and it promised a rough next couple days. He probably wouldn’t even be able to stand in a couple of hours, much less work a proper heist.

The man knew it too. “You won’t be of much use to anyone in a little while, and I’m sure one of your crew at least would want to stay behind and protect Los Santos’ most powerful crime lord while he isn’t particularly powerful.” He said so calmly Geoff had the urge to put his fist through the screen. By the crew’s faces, they all seconded that concept. “Now, I don’t _actually_ want to kill you, Ramsey. This is merely a means to an end—I need what’s in that safe and I need it soon. You and your crew are the closest to the target with such a high success rate; I had no other choice, but rest assured I have no plans of going back on my word. I have no personal injury with you. I merely need your service, and once I have what I need I’ll be out of the country permanently, where you’ll never need hear from me again.”

Geoff growled silently.

“Geoff, let me go.” Gavin repeated with wide green eyes and placing his hands over his chest pleadingly.

“I told you to shut up,” He shot back, unamused and at his wits end with this shit.

The man bowed his head slightly. “I’ll call back in a five minutes. I expect an answer.” He said blankly, and the screen went dark.

“Geoff-”

“Gavin _no,”_ Michael bellowed in Geoff’s stead, his patience ending and the crime boss abruptly unable repeat himself yet again as a wave of nausea made him close his mouth tightly.

“Now hold on just a second,” Jack tried to calm them, looking mainly between Michael and Geoff. “This doesn’t need to be an and/or sort of situation. Geoff, you’ve got no say in the fact that we’re _definitely_ doing this, but I understand you don’t want anyone going alone. Maybe if the Lads-”

“There’s no way in hell.” Geoff cut him off instantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not sending them into the lion’s den for _my_ mistake of getting fucking _poisoned_ of all things.”

“Not them, just _me.”_ Gavin insisted, but they all ignored him.

Jack tried to sooth his partner. “What happened doesn’t matter now, it only matters that we deal with this _correctly._ Now, Gavin is good at getting the right intel, and Ray’s got a sharp eye. Maybe if Ryan did the actual breaking in-”

“Will you just _listen to me?!”_ Gavin shouted, and Geoff stood abruptly, forcing himself not to flinch as the room spun ever so slightly.

“Not when you’re being this much of an idiot!” He shouted right back.

“For the record, with these floor plans he sent us I don’t think I’d be any help.” Ray muttered quietly, but only Jack really heard him.

“Ok, then maybe Gavin, Ryan, and Michael-”

“We don’t want to get caught.” Michael fisted his hair in frustration. “I’m good at sneaking only up until a point—I’m _best_ at blowing shit up and beating people senseless.” He countered, worry written in every freckle on his face. He didn’t want the responsibility and the possibility he could screw it up—it was too much for his shoulders to bear.

“Ryan and Gavin then,” Geoff dismissed. “If Jack goes as a getaway-”

“I think you should listen to Gavin.”

They all fell silent and turned as one of the mercenary, who’d remained entirely silent since they first discovered something wrong with the whiskey. Michael halted in his pacing and Ray even perked up from where he’d rested his head on his arms to cast the older man a suspicious look.

Geoff couldn’t handle the room spinning, and with this argument it was too much: he sat down in his chair again, but kept his eyes narrowed at Ryan. “You’re mental.” He declared.

“So I’ve been told,” The cool tone of the Mad Mercenary responded. That wasn’t Ryan, that was the man in the mask right now, and it caused them to take his words slightly more carefully. “But if I recall the story correctly, you _hired_ Gavin in the first place because of his ability to infiltrate and extract information.” He reminded them.

Geoff and Jack exchanged a quick look. That… was accurate, they supposed, but they hadn’t thought about that long-ago heist in years. Back then Gavin had just been a kid that proved himself useful, but they hadn’t exactly utilized that usefulness since, or even asked about how he’d done it.

Michael and Ray, who _hadn’t_ known that little fact, also exchanged slightly surprised looks.

“After that Debroch thing, I don’t doubt it.” Ray said quietly, looking hesitantly at the Brit across from him, who nodded slightly in assent to that point.

“You never asked how I got you those codes in that first heist,” Gavin pointed out, looking imploringly at both the elder Gents to hear him out. “I never mentioned it because… well, I thought you’d look at me different or something. But I promise I can _do this_ , without sparing the details.”

“Well maybe you should spare some details.” Geoff frowned deeply, looking the Lad up and down, wondering wildly just what the kid had been hiding all these years.

“We don’t have time,” Ryan cut them off, and they glanced at the clock and realized their minutes were ticking down quickly. “But I vouch for him.” He abruptly swore with more energy than the man in the mask usually did.

“So _you_ know the details?” Jack was suddenly less level-headed and almost _accusatory_ at the mercenary. Ryan would’ve taken offense if they didn’t all know that Jack prided himself in being the one the entire crew came to for a shared secret or an eased mind, and knowing he’d been left out probably hurt a little.

The mercenary ducked his head a little in his mask.

“Let’s just say I didn’t tell you everything about that night I ‘ _rescued’_ Gav from Foyat. He may have tricked me into rescuing him, which was why I didn’t flat out kill him like I was ordered to.”

They all stared.

Then, almost as one, they looked at Gavin, and the Brit quickly glanced at all of them and then let his gaze rest on the floor, unable to meet their looks.

“What…?”

Gavin pointedly turned his head to the window rather than face Michael’s baffled, half-formed question.

“…we’re out of time.” Ryan muttered as the clock hit five minutes from when the man responsible for all of this signed off.

Geoff pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…ok Gavin. If you _swear_ you’re up to this.”

The Brit jumped a little at the sudden change of heart and then nodded as seriously as they’d ever seen him.

“I _promise_ Geoff, I’ll come back with an antidote.”

 _Or die trying,_ they all filled in the unspoken ending to that sentence, and Geoff couldn’t decide if it was his emotions or the fact that he was dying that made it hard to breathe.

The screen flickered back to life, and that silver-haired dickwad was back, like he’d never left.

“You’ve made a decision?”

Geoff forced down his instinct to punch the screen, and nodded.


End file.
